


Stranger in a Strange Land

by KailinBoBailin



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, F/M, Romance, Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KailinBoBailin/pseuds/KailinBoBailin
Summary: Molly is a 25-year-old American living in our modern time. Molly moves to Inverness to live with her Grandma after the sudden death of her grandfather. The young woman finds herself on an unbelievable journey that turns out to be more than she bargained for. Rated M: Violence and sexually explicit material. OC x Murtagh.
Relationships: Murtagh Fraser/Original Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	1. Down the Rabbit Hole

I had a palm reader tell me once when I was visiting New Orleans one summer. That I had an old soul, and I was living two lives, the one I was living in the here, and now and the one I hadn't opened the door to yet. She told me one day when I least expected it, the door would open, and I would find myself on a life-changing adventure. Truth be told I, didn't believe in that sort of thing. I thought maybe it was a metaphor for my mediocre life. What I didn't know was that it wasn't a metaphor but fruition. My world was going to change sooner than I thought.

The year had been a difficult one, and unfortunately, life doesn't stop when it feels like your life was crumbling. I grew up in Boston, but my dad was born in Scotland. My parents met when my mother was studying abroad. They fell in love, and my father followed my mother back to Massachusetts. Life was average; I grew up as an only child, my father, a firefighter, and my mother, a high school math teacher. Nothing exciting ever happened. But summers, I loved summers because that was when my grandparents would visit from Scotland. I think that's where I got my love for storytelling. My grandpa would tell me elaborate story's about Scotland, and it left me with nostalgia for a place I had never been to, I ended up becoming a writer, and it hasn't been a prosperous venture like I thought it would be. My fiancé left me for another woman leaving me with no money and all the bills; my grandfather, who I was so close with, had a heart attack only months after leaving my grandma Rose alone in Scotland. My parents thought maybe picking up the pieces and moving across the world to be with my grandma would be a fresh start. I had agreed; besides, I always want to see where my dad grew up.

It had been a little over a month since I made my move to Inverness. For a 25-year-old American from Boston, it was a culture shock. At the same time, I understood why my grandparents loved it so much. The small city located in the Scottish Highlands had a blanket of history, felt through every stone. Most of my transition was grandma telling me a little bit of the country's history, folklore, and familiarizing myself with the countryside. But there was one place that grandma had brought me that fascinated me. It was called _Craigh na Dun._ She had been-told long-ago people believed. The stone circle was magical and a time traveler's pathway but, only those with special-ability could pass through the threshold. The story had been-told so beautifully that the stones became a place of inspiration for me. I was still getting used to my new home, but the stones had become my favorite place. Most of the time, I would drive up there to sit and think, but sometimes inspiration would hit, and I would find myself writing. One day like any other, everything changed.

My name is Molly Rose St. Claire and this is an unbelievably true story.

" **Grandma… grandma!"** The brunette called as she peered out through the open window of her bedroom. The older female pulled herself away from her gardening, greeting her beloved grandchild with a warm smile. **"What is it, my love?"** She called up.

" **I think I'm going to go for a drive, do you need anything?"** Molly called back down. Her eye's darting away for a moment, checking the time on her cellphone.

" **Not that I can think of when will you be back?"** The older woman replied softly.

" **Hour? Two at the most. I'll be home to help with dinner."** The corner of her green eyes crinkled as she smiled. Both unaware this would be the last time they would see each other.

" **I'll hold you to that, have fun, my dear."**

" **I love you."** The younger brunette replied. The window closed, and the last thing anyone would see was Molly getting into her late grandfather's car and driving away.

Her brows knitted together as her eyes stared aimlessly across the hilltop. Behind her was the paved road. Molly parked the car, and before her, where the sky met the horizon, was nothing but open grass. It was breathtaking. Molly sat in the middle of the stone circle with nothing more than her notebook and a pen. Whatever thought came to mind, she would scribble it down. It felt, in a way, therapeutic for her, so quiet. Everything felt untouched by man. A place like this was hard to come by in the states. Kicking her shoes off, the young woman stood, allowing herself to stretch her arms and legs, placing her notebook down. The brunette walked along the stone circle. Her eye's drifting from one standing stone to the next. She wasn't sure why but there was something about this spot that called to her. It was an unexplainable feeling. Suddenly, the wind picked up, causing her notebook to roll across the grass. Instinctively the young woman chased after the notebook every time her fingertips grazed the cover, the wind would gust, and the book would dance away; this happened a few times until landing against a large cleft stone.

Reaching down for the book of her writings, Molly heard the most peculiar sound. A buzzing sound. Her head lifted as her eyes met the face of the stone. She could have sworn the sound was coming directly from the stone curious; she leaned in close enough that she still wasn't touching the stone but enough to hear the buzzing clearer. Losing her balance, Molly pressed the palms of her hands against the stone. It felt like the air was being-sucked out of her body, and everything went black.

The brunette woke feeling like the wind knocked out of her. Her green eyes stared at the blue sky above her. **"What the..."** escaped her lips as she slowly pulled herself to her feet. She stood there for a moment, thinking she had a stroke or something, but she felt fine. Her head darted this way then that while she observed her surroundings. Something was off. It looked the same, but different at the same time. The tugging worry in the pit of her stomach snuck up on her. All her stuff was gone. Was she robbed? Her iPhone and her purse sure but, her shoes? Riddled in a panic, Molly found herself running down the hill when suddenly she stopped in her tracks. The car and the road had all vanished, nothing but grassland with no sign of civilization.

" **No, no, this doesn't make sense."** She told herself. Slowly, turning her head, her eyes landed back on the stones in disbelief. Her stomach was in knots as she made her way back up the hill. She kept telling herself she was dreaming, but what she was feeling felt too real to be a dream. The wind blew slightly, and the brunette found herself standing there in fraught. Something did happen, but she was uncertain of what.

The last thing she remembered was touching the stone. In a desperate attempt to reverse whatever just happened, Molly told herself to go back to the cleft stone. That's how it worked in books and movies. Though this was not a book or a movie, she could have very well been dead, and this was some weird purgatory. Now face to face with the stone. Molly took a deep breath, raised her hands as she was only inches from the stone she became disrupted by the sounds of voices, male specifically. The young woman froze, and she found herself panicking. She had thought about calling for help, but instead, her flight or fight instincts kicked in, and she started running down the rocky hillside in her bare feet in an attempt to hide from whoever was passing by.

It happened so quickly. Molly was running down so fast she lost her footing. Unable to stop herself, she felt her ankle twist, the sharp pain caused her to collapse and roll down the hill. The next thing she knew, the side of her head smacked against a large boulder knocking Molly out cold.


	2. Stranger in a Strange Land

**"She's alert, back up!"** A male voice called out. A flood of murmurs followed as the group gave the brunette air. The world was spinning as Molly's eyes slowly opened. The only thing her mind could focus on was the intense throbbing coming from her skull. For a few short moments, she had forgotten what had happened. She thought she was home or at least her version of home. Her eyes regained focus, and she found herself greeted with men's faces peering down on her. Mixed looks of curiosity and concern, but it only left the female with a feeling of insecurity and unease. She hadn't paid much attention to who these men were, but it wasn't until she tried getting to her feet that she learned who they were.

Molly felt herself nearly collapsing to her knees from the dizziness still playing in her head. Quickly one of the men reached out, wrapping his arm around her waist as she latched onto his arm for support.

 **"Are you okay, miss?"** The man asked with what felt like genuine concern.

 **"I'm fine."** The American responded softly. She didn't think much of it at first, but after a moment, it hit her. The man who was holding her did not carry a Scottish accent. Her brows knitted together as she slowly looked over at the male. Younger in age, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes darted down to his attire. It was the eye-catching red coat that gave her pause. He wasn't wearing a red coat; he was a redcoat. They all were.

 **"Miss?"** The soldier asked again but to no response. It was as if she were in a daze. Molly could see his lips moving but heard nothing. Her mind was trying to catch up until finally she just blurted out. **"What year is it?"**

 **"She's mad."** One snickered from the back of the group. Though, the one who had stepped forward to help her didn't find it nearly as humorous.

 **"Are you daft? She has a concussion."** He responded sternly, bringing his attention back to Molly. **"My apologies. We have been away from home far too long, and it seems some of us have forgotten how to use manners. It is 1743."** The younger male responded with a smile.

It was so Absurd. How could any reasonable person believe this? But she did, how could she not? The evidence added up. The brunette took a long hard look at the soldiers. It took everything to keep her jaw from dropping.

 **"I have to ask—"** The blonde English male slowly started. But before he could complete his thought, they were interrupted.

 **"Move."** A stern voice called out, overpowering everyone else. **"I will shoot each one of you."** Like the red sea, each male parted, opening it up for the other male approaching on his horse. He was the one in charge.

Molly found herself backing up slowly as the man on the horse approached her. Her green eyes looked up at him as he peered down at her with stern hazel eyes. No words exchanged as he studied her closely. The scowl resting across his face didn't budge. The male removed one leg at a time before dropping down from his steed. His stare never left the American. Closing, the distance between them. He reached over, cupping her chin in his hand. Twisting her head this way, then that as if she were a cabbage he may buy. Suddenly his hand dropped, and he introduced himself to the young woman.

 **"Captain Jack Randall at your service."** Finally, introducing himself. A moment passed as the silence grew between them as Captain Randall becoming visibly annoyed. **"This is the point in the conversation where you introduce yourself..."** His eye's narrowing down at her.

The brunette's eyes grew for a moment before fumbling to give him her best half-ass curtsey. That's what you were supposed to do right. **"My apologies Captain. My name is Molly."**

Randall cocked a brow. Waiting for her to finish, but he received nothing. Rubbing his chin, he finally spoke up, **"My patience is growing thin. Your last name."**

 _This guy is a joy, isn't he?_ Molly had thought. She was about to open her mouth with a snarky comment but quickly stopped herself. Her eyes glanced around at Randall's men, which by the looks of it, they seemed to fear him even the polite blonde boy became stoic and rigid, unwilling to glance at her. Slowly her stare fell back on the Captain. **"…. St. Claire Captain."** She replied quietly.

 **"Tell me, Miss …. How does a lovely young woman such as yourself manage to find herself alone in the Scottish Highlands with very little of anything and without shoes?"** He asked with a reserved curiosity. Randall nodded his head towards her appearance. A half-smirk slipped across his lips as his head tilted slightly to the side while studying her. **"Interesting…"** He added as an outward thought. **"Your accent, if I'm not mistaken, is North American slightly non-rhotic … you're a long way from the Colonies."**

Molly felt thrown off. This Captain Randall was sharp, highly educated, and truthfully, he frightened her. She needed to be quick with her lie, perhaps something simple would carry her further. Clearing, her throat the brunette spoke up. **"You're correct Captain. I come from America. My place of birth is the Colony of Massachusetts. My Grandmother lives in Inverness. We got word of my Grandfather's passing. I chose to make the journey to come live with her. While on my travels, I got robbed, and the men responsible took everything."**

Randall's expression stayed stoic, mulling over what the young woman told him. It was hard to tell if he even believed her. Molly only hoped he did. Suddenly, the captain reached out gently, brushing strands of her long hair from her face. **"How did you acquire such a nasty bruise?"**

 **"When I was at the stones, I heard voices. At the time, I hadn't known it was your men. I tried running and hit my head on a boulder. I woke up to these fine soldiers helping me."** It felt like her heart was pulsating out of her chest. Would he accept her answer? What would happen if he didn't?

 **"I'm not surprised by the Savages that live in these parts are more than unsavory."** His sharp words struck Molly harder than she could show.

 _Savages?_ The very word left an "unsavory" taste in her mouth. **"Captain, if you don't mind, I would like to continue on my travels."**

**"Well, we certainly don't want to keep you any longer… perhaps one of my men could assist you in case you run into more troubles?"**

You could see the relief washing over the American. The sooner Molly could get away from these English and captain Randall, the better. **"That's not necessary—"** Immediately, cut off before she could finish her thought.

 **"Cunningham, Forward!"** Randall ordered. **"I want you to escort Miss St. Claire to Inverness and…"** A quizzical look presented itself on the Captain's brow. Throwing his hand up to silence his men. The faint sound of yelling in the distance and with no warning gunfire. About seven redcoats on horses were spotted heading into the trees. In a single moment. Everything changed drastically. In the chaos, Randall ordered the rest of his men to go after their comrades. Like any person hearing gunfire, Molly instinctively chose not to go in that direction. The young woman backed up and went running in the opposite direction, and with what felt like a death grip. Randall swung around, wrapping his hands tightly around her forearm, violently pulling the brunette in close to him.

A sinister smirk danced across his face as his gaze slowly fell to Molly. **"Well done."** He started with his hold on her growing. **"To think I believed you..."**

" **What are you talking about?"** It was now Molly's turn to be confused. **"Let go of me!"** using her own hands to pry away his fingers but with little luck. Her struggle only infuriated Captain Randall further.

 **"Do you think I'm stupid? You set this up."** He snarled.

 **"What—No – I didn't!"** Molly couldn't even think straight. The sickening feeling in her stomach only grew, and the only thought racing through her mind was _what the hell is happening!_

 **"Enough!"** Randall barked as he yanked violently on her arm, now dragging the poor girl with him. **"You are quite the actress, but you're just another Scottish whore, aren't you?"**

Up until this point, Molly was able to keep calm, not allowing her fear to control her actions. But now, it was different. The American knew Randall was going to kill her over something she wasn't involved with; it was becoming clear she had severely underestimated the Captain. Soon the two found themselves near the river hidden amongst the trees. Whatever Captain Randall had planned, he didn't want his men to see. There came a hard push against her back, and Molly found herself falling on her face.

 **"Get up."** The English Captain requested a little too calmly for the American. Molly used her palms for support only to stumble to her feet with her back still facing Randall until he told her otherwise.

**"Turn around."**

She didn't want to, but she knew if she didn't, Randall would force her. Molly's lip began to quiver, and the tears she had been fighting to hold back now stained her cheeks. Slowly the American turned to face the Captain only to be greeted with his musket in her face.

 **"Who are you?"** Randall asked. His hand steady and his stare emotionless.

 **"I told you…I'm an American—"** She tried to squeak out through shaky words.

The gun still pointing at her, Randall let out a deep sigh before speaking again. **"Be reasonable. You are only making this harder for yourself. Tell me the truth."**

 **"I am!"** She pleaded with him.

The Captain gave her a long hard look. **"Alright."** He finally said. His lips pursed together in thought. For a moment, the gun lowered. His head tilted before pointing the musket at her forehead.

Molly felt her entire body freeze. Every ounce of breath in her body was gone. Her green eyes widened right before she tightly squeezed them shut. She could hear his feet shuffling as he took a step back. Any second he was going to pull the trigger. Instead, she heard a loud thud. Her eyes opened to find the Captain unconscious on the ground and a large stone next to his head. She looked up to see a rather rugged Scotsman walking towards her.

 **"Time to go lass,"** The urgency in which he walked determined it was a demand and not a request. Molly was in such a shock she didn't ask any questions; she just followed her savior mindlessly. Her head turned slightly, staring at the unconscious Captain, knowing that he was seconds away from killing her. All she felt were the Strangers' hands on her shoulder, urging her to move a little faster. It wasn't until they reached the forest's end where the man's horse was that Molly finally spoke up.

The stranger was about to help her up on the horse when Molly stopped him and turned around to face him. **"He was going to kill me… and you saved me."** She started. **"Thank you."** She offered a warm smile.

**"Aye, thank me when we're away from here."**

**"Where are we going?"** Molly asked as she perched herself upon the steed.

 **"Someplace safe."** He was a man of few words. Molly's brows furrowed together as she was getting little to no responses from the man.

**"Well, what's your name?"**

The older male just stared at the back of her head. His eyes narrowed at her in annoyance. She asked a lot of questions. **"What's yours?"** he huffed in return.

 **"Molly."** She replied happily, introducing herself.

**"A fuckin hell… Murtagh, my name is Murtagh, ye happy now?"**

**"Nice to meet you, Murtagh. Now tell me where you're taking me."** If this was some hostage situation, she would like to know.

The Scotsman let out a soft grunt before rolling his eyes, **"Ye ask a lot of questions."** There was a moment of silence between them before the male spoke up again. **"Tell me what a bonny lass like you was doing alone in the highlands, and I'll tell ye where we're goin."**

 **"It's a long story."** She explained with hesitation.

The Scotsman shrugged his shoulders before letting out a deep breath, **"Aye, but we got a long way to go."**


	3. Timing is Everything

The image of _Craigh na Dun_ disappearing into the background had been photographed in Molly's memory. After the terrifying experience with that Randall fellow, it was probably too much to ask her new friend Murtagh to bring her back. Frankly, she didn't know what she was going to do. Those stones were her gateway back home. She didn't know; the land or anything about the culture. The young woman had limited knowledge of Scottish history, most of which was told to her by her grandmother. She was wildly out of place. The only thing that gave her some form of comfort; was knowing that technically speaking, she was home, just a different version of it.

During their travels, Murtagh kept asking Molly questions about herself like, how she ended up at the stones, to which she replied verbatim what she told Captain Randall. Consistently was going to be her saving grace; if she never faltered in her story, then everyone else will believe it too. Molly continued to tell him about her Scottish father, a little bit of Boston history, which Molly knew plenty about, and what America was like, which most of what Molly described was from what little she remembered from 12th grade U.S. History. The Scotsman seemed to accept what she was telling him, though it was hard to tell. He didn't talk much and offered only a courtesy grunt now and again as a response. The American truthfully didn't care if he was listening or not. She just needed to fill the silence, so her mind wasn't focused on the panic and worry that was engulfing her.

" **You never told me why you were at the stones."** Molly suddenly asked. Her stare, pulling from the path in front of them. She didn't think Murtagh would say anything, but she hoped for the same courtesy she gave him. She felt the man shift in his spot uncomfortably, but he didn't respond, or at least not right away until.

" **Aye…"** He responded. It was as if he was trying to collect his thoughts. **"If ye must know. The English had been chasing me, and my companions for miles. I had separated from the group to cause a distraction. The others got away; I wasn't so lucky."** He began to tell her. The older male took a breath as he rubbed his chin, trying to recall the order of events. **"Those Redcoat bastards were closing in on me when they stumbled upon you."**

The American chuckled softly to herself as things started to make more sense to her. **"That's why Randall didn't believe me. He probably thought I was working with you!"** She explained. **"Okay, but what I don't understand is why didn't you leave when you had the chance?"**

" **They had the place surrounded lass. I planned on staying in hiding until they were gone, but then Randall showed up. I started throwing rocks to make noise hoping they would leave ye alone, but it didn't work. I followed you down to the river while the redcoats chased after a ghost, and well, ye know the rest of it."**

While Molly knew her time traveling was a freak accident, she couldn't help to admit how perfect timing it was on both their parts. So much so; that it couldn't be called a coincidence. **"It's almost as if we both were where we needed to be."**

" **Aye, it seems so,"** Murtagh replied in agreement.

From that point on. Molly learned that Murtagh, along with the rest of his men, was part of a rebellion group. Turn's out things were more complicated than the American realized. Scotland was currently trying to break away from England and was at the start of a war. Given the United States history with the British, she found herself sympathizing with the Scottish; unfortunately, their story was going to have a far different outcome.

The conversation became sparse after that. The duo had run out of things to talk about; the sun was getting lower; the air chiller and heavy rain clouds were now hanging low in the sky. They were about to get caught in a rainstorm with miles still to go.

" **How much longer?"** Molly asked as her green eyes watched the sky. Lightening could be spotted in the distance heading straight for them. She was only sporting her thin floral dress and the yellow cardigan her grandmother made for her five years ago. This was going to be miserable.

" **Don't ye worry lass. We'll get there before dark"** The scruffy male's own eyes darted up to the gray sky above. As soon as he spoke, it started down pouring. The Scotsman was used to being out in the elements and didn't seem to care. Molly, however, became noticeably tense and uncomfortable. She loved rain from the comfort of her house.

" **Are you going to tell me where we are going now?"** She huffed, her irritability now setting it at full force.

" **What crawled up your backside?"**

" **Murtagh! Just tell me."** Molly snapped.

" **Alright, alright. There's a cottage down the way. We go there when we need a place to hide. It's safe ye have nothin to worry about."**

Time traveled through stones, ran into Redcoats, almost got killed, horseback riding through the Scottish Highlands with some guy who may or may not has killed someone, going to a cottage where more strange men await, and oh yeah. She still didn't have any shoes. But yes, Molly had absolutely nothing to worry about.

The Scottish Highlands were a sight to behold. If things were different, the young woman would have taken the time to appreciate it. However, in her current situation, the beauty was lost on her. Molly was tired, scared, hungry, all the above. They had been riding without a stop for hours, and no, it wasn't a minor one or two, it was an endless and dull five hours. Molly was experiencing fatigue in her legs and back from being stationary on the horse for so long. Then when it felt like there was no end in sight. There it was, the cottage Murtagh told her about earlier. It was like a beautiful mirage as it suddenly appeared at the bottom of the hill. Murtagh let out a sigh of relief when he noticed the horses tied up outside and the small flicker of light coming from the windows. A worry that had been quietly weighing on his mind.

No one greeted them once they approached. Murtagh jumped down from the steed. The male came around to help Molly down. She had never been more thankful to stand. Everything felt stiff and welcomed the movement. Her eyes studied the old cottage and wondered who awaited them inside. She didn't know what to expect or how they would react to her presence. Suddenly, Murtagh came over, without saying a word grabbed her arm, tugging the young woman behind him. Once they were inches from the door, that's when you could hear them laughing and talking inside. Her eyes watched Murtagh's hand as it pushed the door open, her heart racing. Murtagh stepped in and instantly met with a flood of excited greetings. Whatever the worry he had for his friends, they had for him. The male's demeanor changed once he realized everyone made it back alive. Molly, who was still standing behind the Scotsman, looked up towards the male who turned around, pulling her forward.

The room fell into total silence as she stood there front and center. Their stares were more of confusion. Their brows furrowed as they looked back at Murtagh, then to her and back at their friend.

" **Who the fuck is this?"** One finally asked, breaking up the animosity filling the room; he was a short fellow who had a remarkable resemblance to a hobbit. Molly would later learn that his name was Angus.

" **Sit down ya little wee bastard."** Murtagh retorted. His eye's falling onto another male, who had moved forward to get a better look at the girl who interrupted their stag party. Murtagh's posture stiffened, giving his full attention to the male who was clearly in charge of the ragtag group of misfits.

" **Aye, explain ye self."** The other male demanded with a scowl falling onto the American, studying her. Molly became painfully self-aware. It was like he and the rest of his men were picturing what was under her clothing. She dressed modestly or what modern society considered to be modest, yet she felt her fingers grip her sweater.

" **On with it!"** Their leader barked

" **Alright, ya fuckin—"** Murtagh's words trailed off, knowing better to get lippy with this other male. Clearing his throat, the Scotsman began explaining his version of events. Molly's attention was falling in and out of the conversation. She stood there, shaking like a leaf wanting nothing more than to sit next to the roaring fire to warm up. Her eyes glanced around the room, and that's when she noticed him. A younger fellow with his mop of red hair. He seemed to be closer in age to her. Though, he seemed indifferent to her existence. He didn't look up at her, but continued to drink his ale and watch the fire.

" **And you lass."** She heard the leader ask. Molly quickly gave her attention back to him. **"Are you gonna tell us how ye got here?"**

" **On with it."** Murtagh huffed, giving the young woman a push.

" **Okay, and don't push me!"** Molly bit back, sending a stern look towards Murtagh. Small chuckles broke out amongst the men, which quickly stopped when they got hushed by the younger male as he exchanged a look with the leader.

" **Before I start, can I at least know who I'm talking to?"** Molly asked.

The male's brows furrowed as he rubbed his beard in thought. **"Dougal MacKenzie, war-chief of the Clan MacKenzie."**

_Holy shit._ That was the only thought that passed through Molly's mind. She was in over her head with all of this. **"Molly Rose. St. Claire."**

" **You're not English, are ye lass?"** Dougal interrupted before she could even get her first thought out. You could tell it was what they all were wondering.

" **No, I'm not, sir."** The young woman cautiously responded, testing the waters. It was as if you could see the relief washing over them with her confirmation. **"I traveled from America. I was born in the colony of Massachusetts."** She continued. Dougal, who had her full-attention motioned her to sit, which Molly happily did. She then rehashed the same story she had already told twice. The details were now easy to remember and more believable to her ears. Dougal listened and studied her as she explained everything that happened up to that point. Everyone seemed to be all ears except for the redheaded male who seemed disinterested in her story. But when she mentioned Jack Randall, that seemed to pique his interest. The young man quietly looked over his shoulder to Molly. For a moment, their eyes met before Molly casually looked back at Dougal. She even made sure to mention her Scottish side in hopes that they would look at her more favorably.

" **And that's the way of it?"** Dougal questioned after listening patiently to the American's story.

" **Yes,"** Molly responded, unsure what was going to happen next.

" **What was it ye said your name was lass?"**

" **Molly St. Claire…"** she replied, waiting with bated breath for Dougal's response. But he didn't respond. He kept eyeing her as he leaned back casually in his seat. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. Either he was deciding on the truthfulness of what she told him or, more simply, trying to figure out if he knew that name or not. And with no warning, he motioned for Murtagh.

" **Find Miss St. Claire, something for her to walk in,"** Dougal ordered, and Murtagh went off digging through people's belonging for what she assumed was boats.

" **You'll be traveling with us now. Don't do anything stupid, and ye'll be fine."**

" **I didn't find any shoes for the lass, but these should be fine for now."** Murtagh came strolling back with a pair of men's wool stockings, tossing them across the young woman's lap. **"They're clean. "**

" **Thank you."** Molly smiled. They would work; she was thankful for anything they were willing to offer her. Not shoes, but the socks were thick and certainly better than nothing.

" **I don't get it…"** Angus stood there, sipping his ale, one hand on his hip as if faced with an unsolvable equation. **"I always heard the women in the America's were piggish but, you're not. You're a bonny lass, are all women as bonny as ye?"**

_Oh my God, was he for real?_ She looked up in disbelief that he would say such a thing to someone he just met. A gentle smile slipped across her lips. **"Where I come from Angus, we have a saying. Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."**

Angus tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy. **"What does that mean?"**

" **It means you have a freakishly large forehead and shouldn't make fun of anyone."**

Like a chorus, the whole room busted out into laugher even with his chubby companion Rupert chiming in. **"Oh, she's a Scottish lass alright."** The mood toward Molly began to shift, and Molly now thought she could survive this adventure of hers.

With the worst part of this meeting over, Molly finally posed herself in front of the fireplace she had been eyeballing since she entered the cottage. Her feet were comfortable, the warmth of the flames hugged her like a blanket, her clothes finally dry. She was feeling okay, except for the constant worry of what happens next, playing racquetball in her head. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed the person who decided to take a seat next to her. There was a tap on her shoulder. Molly turned, thinking it was going to be Murtagh, was surprised to find that it wasn't. It was a handsome redhead. His blue eyes looked over at her with a crooked grin as he offered half of the bread he was eating.

" **Ye must be hungry."** More of an outward thought as he observed the American lass chow down the morsel of food. His eyes drifted to the flames of the fire as he took his bite. **"I've never been to America's before."** He told her after a moment of silence.

" **I've never been to Scotland."** She replied with a cheeky grin, which elicited a light chuckle from the young male.

" **Jamie MacTavish."** He offered as he held his hand out.

Molly smiled, taking his hand in hers for a shake. Maybe it was her story or the fact that she wasn't English, but his attitude seemed to have changed significantly since her arrival, and she welcomed it. Murtagh, until now, in his way, seemed to be her only friend, now it looked like she was going to have two. After Jamie introduced himself, the new friends sat in silence, finishing what little they had to eat until Jamie turned to his American friend.

" **Ye should get some sleep. We got a long day tomorrow."** The younger male stood to his feet. He reached across the floor, grabbing a spare blanket for Molly.

" **We're not staying here. Where are we going?"** She asked curiously while taking the blanket that he offered to her.

" **Castle Leoch"**

Molly almost gave herself a full body whiplash with how fast she turned to look at Jamie. A castle? Did she hear him correctly? **"I'm sorry, a Castle?"**

The redheaded male gave her a strange look. **"Aye, Castle Leoch."** Repeating himself.

Molly suddenly found herself more anxious and nervous than she was previously. There was no way she was sleeping tonight.


	4. Bedtime Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love. I don't know if the quick updates are good or bad lol, but this is a story that I have been transferring from another site I use so the chapters I have been written already. I still have quite a few chapters I need to post, but Im working on a new chapter as we speak. Happy reading, Enjoy!

It had been the longest night Molly had experienced in a while. Tossing and turning on the stone floor, the orchestra of snoring drunk Scottish Men, the cottage smelt like a barn. But none of it compared to the nerves swimming in the pit of her stomach. They were, seriously going to Castle Leoch? The very idea was overwhelming. The morning had come quickly, as the sun started to rise, the men were already awake, scrambling to get on their way, the American found herself caught in the middle, unsure what to do. Molly attached herself to Murtagh, following him around, doing what he asked. He was the one she knew the best, and the male didn't seem to mind too much. Mostly he enjoyed the attention of a younger woman honestly.

The group finally started their departure from the cottage. When the door opened, the cool, brisk air hit Molly like a punch in the face. Her source of warmth came from the wool blanket she had claimed as her own whoever it belonged to wasn't going to see it again. She had not been built to survive the rugged outdoors, that was for sure. The young American followed closely behind Murtagh like a shadow. The plan was for her to ride with him on their journey. The older male turned as Molly handed him his saddlebag. **"Thank ye lass."** The male offered as he took the items from her hand, holstering them on the back of his horse. **"Alright…"** The older male sighed, turning on his heel, Murtagh stepped to the side, allowing Molly to move forward. Placing his hands tightly along her waist, Murtagh was about to push her up onto the saddle.

" **She can ride with me."** One voice called out suddenly. Both Murtagh and Molly turned to see who made the offer, and it came from Jamie. Molly's green eyes fell on the male, taken back by his kindness. Murtagh looked over, his brows furrowing into a questioning look as if to say, what are you up to? He then shifted his gaze over to Molly, asking if she was okay riding with the other male. Truthfully, she would have preferred to ride along with Murtagh. She felt safe with him for obvious reasons. But at the same time, she didn't want to be rude to Jamie. **"… it's fine, Murtagh. I can go with him."** She decided. Her eyes darted away from Murtagh to Jamie, offering up a friendly smile to the other male. Slowly, the brunette moved away from the older male, making her way to the younger redhead. Her hand reached up to the saddle, her other hand hesitantly grabbing ahold of his forearm, while his hand rested on her rib's pulling her up. The whole time Jamie offered a small smile; he didn't speak, not even an explanation. The brunette found herself sitting in front, as Jamie's arms slipped underneath her own, grabbing tightly at the reins. Their bodies were closely pressed together, Molly nervously holding her breath, fidgeting awkwardly in her spot, but Jamie seemed unbothered, laughing, talking with friends as they went on their way.

The cottage slowly disappeared behind them with nothing but open land before them. The natural beauty of the highlands was almost enough to quiet her worried mind, almost. Each minute that ticked by was a reminder that she was getting further and further away from her way home. She didn't have a plan on how to get back. She wondered if her family already knew she was missing, what they were thinking, was time the same? Like, did her world somehow freeze? Or has weeks already gone by? She could do nothing more than shrug off the obscure worries. She had read too much science fiction. Soon an hour had come and gone. Nothing was said between her and Jamie; some mumblings were coming from the others but nothing more.

" **Excuse me?"** She hesitantly asked, clearing her throat. **"How long will it take to get to Castle Lee Rock"** She quietly asked Jamie.

Jamie was quiet for a short time until laughter escaped through his lips. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't help it. **" Castle Leoch."** He quickly corrected it.

Molly winced at the correction. She was so embarrassed. She was lucky they weren't facing each other; Molly was sure her cheeks were red as a rose. Taking a quick breath, **"Right. Castle Leoch." S** peaking slower so she wouldn't embarrass herself again. **"How much longer to Castle Leoch?"**

" **Oh, not long, lass."** Jamie slowly started. Raising a brow, giving her question some thought. **"Two days."**

" **Two days?"** Molly repeated. Turning her head over her shoulder to look up at him. She was never going to get home, was she? Molly retracted her original opinion of surviving this outrageous adventure; she was probably going to be dead before the weekends. The moment her eyes looked up at him, she met the brilliant color of his perfectly blue eyes. Every detail on his expression so clear, even the small little freckles that kissed his skin. Sitting under the dim firelight, she hadn't noticed just how handsome he was. She felt her breath leave her body.

Jamie looked down at the American, as the corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. **"Aye, don't ye worry; if we run into problems. Ye are in good hands."** Winking at her.

Taking a breath, Molly brought her attention back to the path before them. Everyone kept telling her not to worry, but they hadn't a clue to what was going on. Her problems were only growing by the minute. **"Why are we going to Castle Leoch?"** Finally, asking after a minute.

The politics happening in Scotland at the time were complicated, between clans fighting for power, the English trying to take control, essentially wanting to wipe out the highland way of life it was messy, probably more complicated than Molly anticipated. Jamie took a moment thinking over what she had asked, mostly figuring out the least complicated explanation he could think of . **"We offer our services and loyalty, and in return, we get their protection, a place to stay no questions asked."** Leaning forward, the Scottish male whispered into her ear. **"You have nothin to worry about."** Slowly, he sat upright, gently adjusting the blanket slipping from her shoulders. It was such a small gesture, yet one that made the female take notice.

The day went on according to their plans. It had been safe travels for everyone. They had stopped twice to water the horses and for bathroom breaks. Once the sun started to lower filling, the sky with hues of purple and orange. Dougal announced they were going to make camp. They found a safe spot within the trees that would hide them during the night. Day one for expedition Castle Leoch was complete. Molly only hoped day two would go as smoothly. The sky grew dark quickly, and the only light offered was that of the bonfire and the stars filling the night sky. Everyone was gathered around the fire, settling in for the night with alcohol and a warm meal that consisted of rabbit meat and whatever bread they had on them. The men were merry, laughing, and telling stories, while Molly sat quietly alone not because she felt excluded, but because she finally found time to think about her situation and formulate a plan. She needed to utilize this time. Using a small stick, she tried to draw a map in the dirt, recalling as many details as she could; it had proven to be more difficult than she anticipated. **"The sun rises in the east… and sets in the west. So, we have to be going north, right?"** She mumbled quietly to herself. Her brows furrowed in frustration as she used her foot to erase her fake map and start over. Reaching down, grabbing for her stick, she heard footsteps coming in her direction. Turning her head, she looked over to see who it was. Her heart skipped a beat; it was Jamie. The male quietly took a seat next to Molly, looking over to her, he offered some of his rabbit meat. Out of respect, she took a small piece, taking a courtesy taste.

Placing his plate on the ground, Jamie leaned back resting on his elbows, with one knee propped up. His gaze stayed on his friends sitting around the fire, laughing loudly, as they listened to Angus's tall tale. Once there was a break in the story. Jamie brought his attention to Molly. His eyes darted to the dirt smudges in front of her. **"What are ye doing?"**

" **Nothing."** She replied quietly, tossing the stick away. They had all been so hospitable to her she didn't want them to think she was trying to run from them. That was not the case.

His eyes drifted up to hers, giving her a curious look before bringing his attention back to the group as Angus finished his story. Molly sat there quietly; her eyes once in a while, drifting over to Jamie when he moved or thought he was turning her way, she found herself looking away, afraid to be caught staring. After a moment, she just had to ask, **"What is he saying?"** The story was not in English; it sounded like Scottish Gaelic, Molly was sure of it. From the sounds of it, it was either funny or stupid, but it was hard to tell.

Jamie glanced over at her, offering a cheeky grin. Sitting up, he moved closer to the female, leaning into her shoulder, keeping their conversation private. **"Angus was with a giant woman. He claims she was 7 feet tall, like an Amazon. The most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and she was madly in love with him…"** Jamie, if anything, found the outrageous story humorous. A soft chuckle escaped his lips before adding, **"The rest is not appropriate for the ears of a Lady."** Leaning away from her, he pulled his knees up, leaning back once more onto his elbows, his eyes studying her as she watched the ground. She had gentle features, soft-looking skin, long dark hair, but her eyes, he thought, her eyes reminded him of emeralds. **"What story's do you know?"** He suddenly asked, filling the silence building between them.

Molly shot him a look. **"You want me to tell you a story?"** She asked in a panic. **"I don't know any…"** Not true. She knew plenty of stories but found herself blanking when being put on the spot like that.

" **I bet ye know plenty, what do people tell where you come from? Don't be shy."**

She found herself racking her brain. She knew plenty of romances, thrillers, but none of which would interest Jamie. What would interest a renegade Scotsman in the Scottish Highlands? No, it had to be exciting, thrilling, full of adventure; then, like a lightbulb going off above her head, she found it. The perfect story. **"I have one."** Clearing her throat, she adjusted how she was sitting. **"It's a popular story; it's called _The Lord of The Rings"_** By the expression on Jamie's face, she had already grabbed his attention just with the title. So okay, maybe it wasn't her story. But it had mythical creatures, war, magic. It was a great story. It wasn't like he knew that it was one of the most famous fantasy novels ever written. What was the harm?

" **Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne. In the Land of Mordor, where the Shadows lie. One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. In the Land of Mordor, where the Shadows lie**. **"** The poem left him hanging onto every word. She wasn't sure if she had ever got anyone's full attention like she was right now. She went on to do her best to retell _the fellowship of the ring_ to Jamie. It wasn't exact, but there was enough detail she remembered to have the tale make sense and to keep holding his attention. They were up for another hour until everyone decided to call it a night. She didn't finish the story, but Jamie was left asking her questions about Hobbits, Mordor, who was who. It was as if he had never heard a fantasy story before. It surprised her, she didn't think it would go over as well as it had.

The brunette had found a comfortable spot under a tree to curl up in as she tried to fall asleep. Though, she knew it was going to be another restless night. Her eyes were closed, finally, in that sweet spot where you are drifting to sleep when she felt movement, somebody pressed right up against her. Her eyes shot open, about to throw a bitch fit when.

" **It's just me, lass,"** Jamie whispered. No cares was given as he pressed his body tightly against hers, as one arm draped across her.

" **Um, what are you doing?"** She scolded. She wanted to push him off but feared making a scene.

" **It's cold out, I'm not curling up to Murtagh, and you still have my blank."** He quickly retorted, moving in a little closer. **"Do ye snore?"**

" **I don't know, do you?"** Molly responded. A bit annoyed by the handsome male.

" **Yes, like a bear,"** Jamie replied, letting out a loud yawn. The next thing Molly knew, he was sound asleep like a baby. But she was wide awake, with his crotch pressed into her back, and his snoring in her ear.

Yup, it was going to be another long night.


	5. Kind of a Funny Story

Molly was running on fumes; it was too much to ask for a goodnight's sleep. She had high hopes she blamed herself. Jamie deciding to utilize body heat to stay warm was unexpected but harmless; however, it triggered a chain reaction. It had become unseasonably cold during the night. The brunette woke to the sound of rustling and found Angus, shoving his short little body in-between herself and Jamie, shortly after Rupert followed, snuggling himself next to Angus. It continued with Murtagh eventually pulling Rupert by his legs, forcing him to find another spot to sleep. So, it went until everyone gave up on their search for the perfect spot. Molly couldn't decide if they were seeking warmth or if it was the opportunity to have a night to lay next to a woman. The only person who didn't partake was Dougal, either out of protest or the fact he had no shits to give. Molly wanted to say she tossed and turned, but she didn't have that luxury. Molly ended up smothered all night. The young woman woke from what little sleep she had just before daybreak. Sneaking herself from the dogpile, she had sat by what was left of the fire, shortly after Dougal had woke up. The stern male didn't say much to the female but sat there gathering his things, watching the other sleeping males, as each one woke up finding themselves snuggled with each other. Molly would have thought the entire thing hilarious, but she wasn't feeling herself. She felt terrible. Her head throbbed, her stomach spinning, her body ached. She got sick during the night. She contributed it to stress, no sleep, and being stuck in the outdoors. It didn't go unnoticed either.

Molly had kept to herself all morning, not speaking to anyone. The young woman slowly made her way over to the horses as they prepared to head out. She stood there quietly as she gently petted one of them, trying to focus on anything but how she was feeling. She suddenly felt a tight grip around her arm, forcing her to turn.

" **What's wrong with ye lass. I was talking."** Dougal aggressively turned Molly to face him. She was so out of it. Molly honestly had no idea that he was talking to her. The older male's scowl only deepened as he studied the American.

" **I'm fine…"** She responded slowly, pulling her arm from Dougal's hold. The older male then grabbed her chin, twisting her head this way and that. Pale, lethargic, a bit sweaty. The flu. With no warning, he pushed her away.

" **You're not fine."** Rubbing his beard as he let out a frustrated breath. **"Fuckin hell, ye are sick."**

The rest of the group quickly taking notice. **"I've always said the wilderness was no place for a woman."** Angus offered, throwing out his opinion no one wanted. Turning as he finished up saddling his horse. **"She ain't riding with me."**

" **Will ye shut up?"** Murtagh warned. His eyes fell onto Jamie, who was approaching. His brows narrowed together slightly, watching the younger male from the corner of his eye. Without being prompted, he grabbed Molly's arm, pulling her close. **"She'll ride with me. I brought the lass. She's my responsibility."** He was a proud man, but it seemed he got bit by the jealousy bug. Jamie gave Murtagh a look before quickly backing off.

" **You're going to get sick too."** Molly managed to get out. She felt his hands grabbing hold of her waist as he pushed her up onto the horse.

" **Don't worry about me."** The older male replied as he holstered himself up behind the brunette.

The goal was to get to Castle Leoch before nightfall if weather permitted, and they didn't fall behind for any reason. The day went on, but the weather did hold up. The sun was out, and the rain stopped, but Molly, however.

" **Murtagh."** Molly managed to get out. She didn't speak the whole time. Her only focus was on holding down what little she had in her stomach. The swaying of the horse was threatening everything to come up with a vengeance. She held on as long as she could. **"Stop."** It sounded more like a groan. Murtagh stubbornly ignored her request. Her brows furrowed, suddenly she leaned over, letting it all come out.

" **Hey, Woah, no."** That certainly got the Scotsman's attention. His eyes darted down to the brunette. Frantically, pulling off to the side. His initial reaction was to want to get mad, but it was rough a sight. By the third hurl, he just awkwardly patted her on the back. His nose wrinkled as he did his best not to look. **"Ye done?"**

Molly sat up straight, gently nodded her head. Nope. Immediately leaned over and started heaving though it was mostly spitting at this point. Murtagh released a heavy sigh, his brows furrowed in annoyance, motioning the rest of the group to continue without them. They needed a minute. A soft grunt escaped his lips, moving off into the trees, there was a water source nearby. His horse could use a rest, and maybe if his American friend suddenly died, he could just leave her there. Okay, not the nicest thought, but he had some regrets about his decision.

" **Don't ye move."** Murtagh expressed sternly. The duo made their way near the stream. Once Molly was down from the horse, she placed herself under a neighboring tree. Leaning her head back against the trunk; her eyes fell on the Scotsman as she gave him two unenthusiastic thumbs up. Nothing like feeling hungover without being hungover. Murtagh disappeared further down, leaving the young woman on her own. She was honestly okay with that. Her eyes closed, allowing her to fall asleep for about fifteen minutes.

Being stirred from her nap, Molly felt someone gently pushing her shoulder, brushing hair from her face. **"I'm not dead!"** She snapped, thinking it was Murtagh. Her eyes slowly opened as she nudged the other person away. Her head lifted as she shot a glaring stare, her stomach sank. It was not her friend.

" **Are you okay, miss?"** The redcoat moved back, letting Molly stagger to her feet. The male grabbed ahold of her shoulders, assisting her. **"I'm not going to hurt you."** He quickly added. His eyes studied the female for a moment. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other. **"You don't look well."**

" **I'm slightly under the weather today,"** Molly replied as calmly as she could. Her goal was to say as little as possible, but he kept asking her questions.

" **Are you out here alone?"** He asked curiously, his eyes darting around as if to spot other signs of life.

She felt herself panic. She couldn't tell if she was sweating because of fever or from fear. She stood there, looking at the man while he waited for her response. She just knew if she kept talking, he would pick up on her accent.

" **Miss?"** The soldier politely questioned after what felt like the longest minute.

She had stalled long as she could, her lip quivered, and the response just slipped through her lips, causing immediate regret on her part. **"I'm with my husband…"**

" **Your husband?"** Raising a brow.

" **Yes, my husband."** Molly nodded. She knew this would come back to haunt her. Her heart was pounding from her chest. **"Murtagh!"** She called out with urgency.

The older male took a little more time than usual down at the small stream. Not only giving his horse a break but giving himself one from his new responsibility. The male tilted his head back, opening his eyes, greeted by a clear blue sky, feeling the soft breeze running across his face. Kneeling, Murtagh cupped his hands together in the stream in front of him. The water pooled together in his hands as he leaned forward, splashing the water against his face. It was refreshing. The older male stood, wiping his wet hands across his chest, stepping away, he moved closer to a bush to relieve his bladder. He stood there, casually looking around as he whistled quietly to himself. Then he heard it. He cocked a brow, glanced over his shoulder. He swore he heard his name. There was a moment of complete silence. Murtagh stepped away from where he was standing, and all he heard were birds and the stream flowing. Then, there it was again. That was his name, and it sounded like the American. Wasting no time, he gripped his hand along the handle of his sword, storming up the small hill to where he left Molly. Murtagh came to a sudden halt when he caught sight of the redcoat, who stood at alert, seeing the Scotsman.

The English male looked to Molly with a curious look, then to Murtagh. **"This is your husband?"** He questioned. No doubt mulling over the oddity of this match-up. Though it was becoming clear, this redcoat hadn't run into them before. They could pull this off.

Molly forced a smile, slowly turning to face Murtagh, praying to God he would play along. **"There you are… darling."** The look on the older male's face was nothing short of confusion. _Darling_? _What was this?_ It hit him rather quickly. Molly's pointed stare, the redcoat's look of bafflement. He would play her game of lies. A cheeky grin slipped across his lips, as his grip loosened from the blade resting at his side, strolling confidently towards the young woman and the redcoat. Pulling Molly in close, the young woman jolted up, biting the inside of her cheek, feeling Murtagh's hand plant itself on her backside. All she could do was smile.

" **And how long have you two been…"** The soldier started before getting cut off.

" **A week."** Murtagh happily interrupted. He was enjoying this more than Molly would have liked.

The English male stood there listening. Slowly nodding, he found this whole thing odd. She was American, he could tell that, and she could have found a more suitable companion. Maybe it was arranged? He couldn't tell, and frankly, he didn't care that much. He just wanted to make sure everything was okay. After some consideration, the soldier forced a smile of his own. **"Congratulations."** He offered.

" **Thank you."** Molly managed to get out. All she could think was, fake it till you make it. Nudging, Murtagh slightly, making the older male bow out of respect, which he begrudgingly did.

" **I will just let you two continue with your travels."** The soldier's eyes darted from one to the other than resting on the brunette. **"I do hope you get well soon, miss."** Adding before offering a small nod to them both. Molly and Murtagh stood there, watching as the redcoat started to walk away, stealing glances at them from over his shoulder, even shaking his head slightly, until he disappeared entirely.

" **Husband, lass?"** Offering a cheeky grin as he looked down at the young woman.

Her eyes darted up at Murtagh; she opened her mouth and nothing. Letting out a sigh, she shrugged her shoulders before pushing his hand off her. **"I panicked."** Rolling her eyes at him. She started walking down to where he left their horse. **"It worked, didn't it? Also, don't grab me like that."** She warned.

" **Just playing my part lass. I had to make it believable, now didn't we?"** Yeah, he enjoyed that. If Molly didn't feel like death, she would have slapped him; she was going to save it for another time.

" **Alright, we better get going. Where there is one redcoat, more are bound to follow."** Murtagh added.

Molly perched herself upon the Stallion, watching as Murtagh pulled himself up as well. Despite how annoyed she was with him getting so handsy with her, it was hard to ignore how much he had done for her in the little time they have known each other. Saved her from Randall, not avoiding her while being violently ill, and helping fulfill a lie so that redcoat wouldn't take her because they both know if she did say she was alone, that would be it, she would be going off somewhere else.

" **Thank you, Murtagh."** She told him after a short minute. He didn't say anything, merely cleared his throat. Though, Molly could tell he appreciated the recognition for his efforts. He was simply a man of few words.

The rest of their group at this point were miles ahead, there was no use in trying to catch up with them now, but Murtagh believed if they got back on track, they could get to Castle Leoch by nightfall.


	6. Castle Leoch

It had been a little over a week since Molly's arrival, and the transition to Castle Leoch had been rather interesting. The castle was as she painted in her imagination- sequestered by itself. The first night was difficult, but nothing compared to the loneliness that followed days after. When Molly and Murtagh arrived, the young woman immediately got swept away from her new companion when Mrs. FitzGibbons noticed how ill the American was. Sending her to bed rest, stuck in an unfamiliar location, alone, her only company was Mrs. Fitz, who certainly was the kindest woman she met, but achingly familiar to her grandmother, making her homesickness grow. A day or so later, when Molly was feeling much better, she was introduced to the fashion of 18th century Scotland, and according to Mrs. Fitz, now looked like a proper Scottish woman.

The most nerve-racking event occurred when Colum MacKenzie or Laird MacKenzie sent for her. She was unsure how well he would perceive her, a stranger in his home. He was suspicious of her as one would have imagined, though when asked how Molly found herself in Scotland, the American told the same story told to Randall, Murtagh, and Dougal. Molly told it so much now she almost started to believe it herself. It had become clear the Laird was more interested in where her loyalty fell. Being American, she had no stake in their politics, but Molly felt that having Scottish blood and not being English could only work in her favor. After her interrogation, they agreed. Molly could stay with them as a guest of the MacKenzies, prompted with the promise of her sleeping quarters, and some form of independence a young adult required, but under the understanding that it wouldn't be for free. Limited in her skill sets, Molly agreed to help Mrs. Fitz with whatever was asked of her and offered up her tailoring services, all that time she learned to sew looked as if they were going to pay off after all. Molly, reluctant with this arrangement, found herself unable to feel completely at home. To help numb the uncertainty of getting back to Inverness, Molly tried to build a routine for herself, anything to dull the heartache she was feeling.

Her fingertips dragged along the cobblestone of the castle walls, the sun shining high above, as a slight breeze danced through loose strands of her brown hair. The courtyard was full of life, people going about their business, as usual, children running around playing games. It was the strangest feeling, watching their everyday lives unfold, knowing that everything around her had already happened. It was like walking through a history book, but better, she could see it, feel it, she kept finding herself being left breathless at the natural beauty of it all. It was better than any historical fiction novel she ever read.

The young woman suddenly stopped as she observed an elderly woman who was tending to her cart full of flowers. Molly didn't ask what they were for; she only shared with her a smile. After a moment, Molly turned on her heel to walk away when the other woman stopped her, handing the American a Scottish Heather from her collection. Gently, Molly took the flower into her hand, quietly admiring its vibrant purple color. She knew this flower well, a legendry flower of Scotland, yes but, they resided in her grandma's garden. Suddenly the young woman found herself picturing her last moments with her grandma Rose before disappearing in plain sight. Feeling a lump form in her throat, Molly smiled, thanking the woman, and continued her way. Her green eyes darted up, making sure she didn't walk into anyone; as she did so, she noticed a very familiar face hanging around the courtyard, the scruffy beard, the quizzical look resting upon his brow. Immediately a soft smile slipped across her lips at the sight of the man who saved her from Captain Randall. **"Hello, Murtagh."** She called out gently, slowly approaching the older male.

The Scotsman had perched himself up against the wall, arms folded across his chest, standing quietly by himself while he observed a group of young boy's swords fighting with sticks they had found. He enjoyed it. It reminded him of when he was a young lad, a much happier time. His eyes furrowed as he rubbed his chin. Shifting his weight, he looked over to see who was calling his name, suddenly becoming alert recognizing the voice as female. When a woman came around looking for him, it typically meant he was in trouble. Pulling himself from the cobblestone, Murtagh glanced over, only to find himself becoming pleasantly surprised. It was the American lass. He found himself having to do a double-take; she looked so different from the last time he had seen her, he almost didn't recognize her.

"

**Don't tell me you forgot about me already?"** Molly teased. She couldn't help but notice the perplexed look on his face. He was a hard one to read. She couldn't tell if he liked her, hated her, or if he just had a general disinterest towards everyone.

" **You're a hard one to forget."** The male replied, still holding that indifference he carried so well. On the inside, however, was a different story.

Molly, unsure of what he meant, only hoped that it was a compliment. She looked up at him, offering a small smile before looking away from him, her focus fell on the group of boys he too had been observing only moments ago. The young woman fell quiet, thinking perhaps she was annoying him. She didn't realize it, but she very much held the Scotsman's attention.

The male's hazel-eyes darted up to the afternoon sky while he scratched his beard, then looking to his boots as he adjusted how he was standing. It felt a bit like uncharted territory for him; she was a bonny lass, bonnier than the women he found himself running around with usually. Murtagh caught himself watching her from the corner of his eye. The last time he saw Molly, she was more like a scared little girl, but now, she looked and carried herself like the woman that she was. There were things that he had noticed and admittedly liked, like how she loosely braided her hair, letting it cascade across her shoulder, her dress noticeably hugged her in all the right places, and he couldn't even believe he was thinking it, but the color matched her eyes. He watched as her stare fell to her hands as she twirled the flower stem between her fingers, then he noticed the leather-bound book she was carrying in her other, clearing his throat.

" **What ye reading lass?"** He asked, nodding toward her hand.

Molly diverted her attention back to Murtagh, surprised by the sudden conversation starter. **"Oh, it's not a book. I think it's a journal."** She explained. **"I found it in my room. I don't know why I brought it with me."** She shrugged gently. Perhaps she thought she would find a reason to write in it.

" **Found it, ye mean you stole it."** Raising a brow at the young woman.

" **No, found it."** Molly corrected as she looked back up at him, playfully rolling her eyes. Her gaze fell back to the journal, flipping through the empty pages. Her body shifted towards Murtagh as she leaned her shoulder against the stone.

" **Have ye written down all your secrets?"**

" **No, it's still empty."** She quickly replied, closing the journal. A cheeky grin slipped across her lips as she looked up at the male. **"Even if I had, I wouldn't tell you."**

Raising both brows, he threw his hands up. **"Lucky for you, I don't meddle in the affairs of women."** He huffed in response.

" **Why ask, hm?"** She questioned with a smile.

She was messing with him, but it still caught Murtagh off guard. After a moment, his brows furrowed. **"Making conversation."** Responding bluntly.

" **You certainly are a charmer Murtagh."**

Clearing his throat, Murtagh casually leaned himself back up against the wall, folding his arms across his chest once more. **"Be careful lassie, keep talkin like that; I might start to think ye like me."**

" **And on that note. I must take my leave."** He was an enigma, that was for sure. Taking a deep breath, Molly pulled herself away from the stone wall. **"I have to help Mrs. Fitz prepare for dinner..."** offering a small smile though he wasn't looking at her. Beginning to walk away, Molly ended up stopping when she felt her flower slip from her fingertips. Unwilling to part with the flower, Molly quickly turned on her heel to retrieve it. When doing so, she had noticed Murtagh already picking it up for her. She held her hand out, waiting for him to hand it back to her, but he never did, at least not right away. The male studied the flower resting between his fingers. It was so small and dainty compared to his hands. Suddenly he raised a brow, and without saying a word, reached across grabbing Molly's journal from her. The young woman watched him with confusion, but then he opened to a random spot, placing the flower in between the pages, closing the leather-bound journal handing it back to her.

" **Ye can't say it's empty now."** He explained.

Molly truthfully was taken aback by his response. The only thing she could think to do was smile, even working on her curtsy before turning on her heel once more to walk away. Though, she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, giving a small wave on her final departure.

The Scotsman offered a nod of his own in response, pulling his attention away from the young woman, he still found himself looking over at Molly as she was walking away. The image of her glancing over her shoulder painted in his memory. As he said, beautiful women were nothing but trouble. Suddenly hearing a whistle, he turned his head, noticing Dougal motioning for him. No doubt, Colum wanted to speak to them about something. Anything to distract him from whatever this hell was he was now feeling. Furrowing his brows, he started heading over to Dougal, but not before looking over his shoulder through the American lass was already gone.


	7. Who We Are And Who We Have To Be

With each passing day, Molly's heart grew heavier. There wasn't a moment where she wasn't thinking about her own time, her family, Boston. The young woman filled her endless days, helping with laundry, working in the kitchen, every now again tailoring. Laird MacKenzie seemed to be the biggest fan of her stitching. For Molly, it was busy work while she figured out when she was going to make her great escape. Molly feared with each nightfall her window was closing. It had been two months since she disappeared at this point, she could only assume her family thought she was dead. It made her wonder what kind of damage would cause if she showed up after they accepted her passing? Maybe her being dead was for the best.

Finding a little bit of free time, Molly sat quietly by herself in the grassy field a few yards away from the castle. Her green eyes darted up; all she could see was the sky forever. For a second, Molly felt okay. Her eyes closed as she took in a deep breath of fresh air, maybe just maybe on the other side, her Grandma was watching that same clear sky. Slowly, her eyes opened, looking down into her lap where her journal lay open. The pages no longer empty. She filled them with all her secrets as Murtagh had put it. Gaelic words she had heard and tried to decode, list of things that she missed like the sound of car horns in the middle of the night, Red Sox baseball games, Netflix, showers, she spent a lot of time drawing things that she found interesting, like people, a lot of people. Admittedly her sketches weren't good, some better than others. She wrote letters to her family. One's that could never be sent silly as it may have been, she thought writing down words to them would make them feel her somehow. Her eyes darted across each page, taking another look at everything she had put in her journal. The young woman had become so consumed in her thoughts; she was unaware that someone had approached her until their shadow danced across her view.

Her eyes furrowed as she stared at their boots until their throat cleared, causing Molly to glance up at them. Peering down at her with his cold stare was Dougal. The last person she wanted to see. The man frightened her. His presence left her with an unsettling feeling. If he took the time to come out here to look for her, it wasn't for anything pleasant.

" **What the fuck are ye doin out here?"** The stern male asked coldly. His eye's glancing around the open space before falling onto Molly.

" **Nothing,"** Molly responded with hushed reservation. Her eyes nervously looked away from him like a scared child as she began to pull herself from the ground. She quickly felt Dougal's handgrip tightly around her forearm, forcing her to her feet. The man lacked the patience to wait for her to get up on her own.

" **Ye could have done nothing in the Castle instead of making me look high and low for you."**

He was such an asshole. Molly knew better than to snap back at him; she had seen what happened when people tried. Instead, she bit her tongue as she brushed the grass from the pleats in her skirt. Taking a deep breath. **"What can I help you with, Dougal?"** She asked while looking back over towards him, but he wasn't paying any attention. He discovered her book of secrets, and her heart sank. It wasn't the lack of privacy or the fact that he took it upon himself to look through her journal without asking Dougal was a jerk; she didn't expect anything less from him. Her journal. Had been the only thing she had that was hers in this new life, now she couldn't even have that.

" **Please give that back."** Panic present in her words as she reached out towards him, attempting to grab the journal from his hand. It didn't work. He nudged her away, turning his back while slowly flipping through each page. Molly could only watch on in horror as he discovered her secret world. Dougal didn't say a word, only offering glances at her.

" ** _Tioraidh_ means goodbye." **Dougal suddenly offered as he paced around the young woman until abruptly stopping. Grabbing a loose page from the journal in hand. The older male turned on his heel facing the American **"Do ye think I look like this lass?"** He held up one of her drawings, his brows furrowed together as he gave Molly a questioning look.

"… **of course not."** Molly hesitated. Clearing her throat nervously. **"I'm not very good."** Her eyes watched as he carelessly shoved the page back into its rightful spot, hoping that he had enough fun at her expense to return the book to her, but he didn't. There were other drawings in there she didn't want him to see, one person who she spent quite a bit of time drawing on various occasions, meant only for her eyes. She watched on with bated breath as he studied each poorly done sketch, waiting for him to say something. Instead, he looked down at her, his stern expression softening while releasing a deep breath; Dougal slammed the book shut, tossing it back to the American.

" **Laird MacKenzie wants to see you."** He announced as he started to head back towards the castle. **"Today, Miss St. Claire, hurry up!"** The male warned.

Quickly picking up her skirt so she wouldn't trip, Molly sprinted toward Dougal, trying to keep up with his hurried pace. **"Do you know what for?"** She asked curiously. The male merely glanced over his shoulder to her before pushing the woman forward. **"If he told me. I would have just told you myself."** Dougal added sharply.

Why did she even try? The rest of the walk was uncomfortable. Molly followed close behind Dougal. She had been to Colum's study before, though Dougal was insistent about taking her. She knew he probably thought the weak little American girl couldn't do anything on her own.

The two made their way up a set of stairs, turning down a long corridor when Dougal came to a sudden stop. Turning to face Molly, the male looked at her curiously. **"What did you say ye'r father's name was?"**

The question came as a surprise to the woman. She studied him for a moment. **"I didn't."** She started slowly. **"His name is Rory…"**

**Huh."** The older male responded. His stare, only growing stronger on her **"I knew a young man long ago named Rory…"** Finally responding. There came a drawn-out pause than with no warning; Molly noticed his hand reach towards her, gently Dougal loosely grabbed ahold of a small section of her hair. Though, it didn't feel like an advancement, more of an observation. **"I remember his hair being dark like yours, but curly."** It was as if the very name had sparked a memory from his youth that he had long since forgotten. Suddenly his hand dropped to his side.

" **What was his family name?"** Molly asked simply out of curiosity. It was a long shot, but she liked the idea of the possibility of this young man being a long-lost relative. A boy named Rory with similar features as her father? Her dad rarely talked about his family history, and her grandparents were no different. Crazier things have happened.

" **McFadden."** Dougal quietly added as he recalled his friend from long ago.

That hopeful feeling Molly had quickly washed away. Somethings had to be-left to coincidence. " **May I ask what happened to him?"**

Dougal's brows furrowed with his eyes falling to his feet. Rubbing his beard, the male cleared his throat, looking up at the young woman. **"When the lad turned 16-years of age, he had went riding, and he never came back."** He didn't need to give more detail; from the way he spoke, it seemed that he felt the boy met a tragic end.

_People disappear all the time. Disappearances almost always have an explanation._ Molly thought to herself. She looked up at the male; a soft smile slipped across her lips. **"Perhaps, he is somewhere different with a beautiful family and happy."** Molly offered as some form of comfort to him. That sounded like a better ending anyway.

Dougal didn't respond, though her ending sounded much better than the one he had pictured. After a short moment. Dougal stiffened motioning, Molly forward. **"Enough of this."** He announced, following on the brunette's heels as the two reached Colum's doors. Molly stood in front of Dougal as the male reached forward, pounding on the large, heavy doors announcing their arrival. Immediately the Lairds voice was heard on the other side, calling them to enter.

Molly entered the room first with the added assistance of Dougal shoving her in further.

" **Miss St. Claire."** Dougal greeted. The male took a few steps back, standing there quietly with his arms folded in front of him as he waited for his next orders.

Colum sat quietly at his desk, his hand working continuously to sign documents resting before him. The room was quiet until he was ready. **"That will be all, Dougal."** He finally told his brother after the longest five minutes of Molly's life. The woman slowly turned towards Dougal, who nodded and quickly made his way out of the room, leaving the American and Laird of Castle Leoch to themselves.

" **Sit,"** Colum demanded. The Laird didn't bother to look up. The room full of so much silence made his voice loom, startling the young woman. Molly jumped slightly at the command, quickly finding herself sitting quietly across from him.

The Laird gently placed the quill in his hand back in its inkpot. Grey eyes darted up to the brunette sitting across from him. His expression left emotionless as he leaned back in his chair, hands folded comfortably against his desk. He didn't speak or at least not right away.

" **You've made quite the impression on Mrs. FitzGibbons. You get your work done, respectful to everyone. These are good qualities to have."** The MacKenzie expressed.

The positive feedback was, of course, nice it was good to know she wasn't sticking out like a sore thumb but did nothing for her nerves. It didn't answer the question of why Colum wanted to see her. Molly looked up at the Laird, offering a soft smile . **"That makes me very happy. Being a guest in your home, I find it important for me to do my part."** That was true. They gave her a place to stay with little questions asked the very least she could do was pull her weight. As she waited for him to speak again, the woman couldn't help but feel that this was his way of buttering her up for something else.

" **That's good to know,"** Colum told her while studying her for a moment. Leaning forward, he casually folded his hands in front of him. The one thing Molly liked Colum was straightforward and this time was no different **"Rent is due. I'm sending Dougal and his men to collect. I'm sending you with to make sure things go smoothly. Having a woman along will be more inviting for some of our tenants."**

She was sure all color drained from her face. The American sat there quietly, forcing a smile as she processed what he was asking her. After a moment, Molly shifted uncomfortably in her chair. **"What do you mean exactly when you say to make sure things go smoothly?"**

" **When my men are happy, they work better."** He started to explain. **"Your job will be to make sure they are fed, mend clothing, help with horses—"** The Laird was immediately cut off before he could finish. Molly knew it was improper to interrupt, but with the outrage building in her, she couldn't help but say something.

" **I'm sorry, you want me to play den mother to them? They are grown men, who can take care of themselves."** She huffed back. **"I'm not doing it."**

" **You misunderstand me miss St. Claire. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Ye don't have a choice."** His voice never faltered. It didn't need to. He carried an intimidating presence all on his own. Colum's palms pressed along the edge of his desk, slowly pulling himself to his feet, now hovering over the young woman . **"Doing your part also includes doing what I ask of ye. I didn't know you were willing to give up ye're warm bed and food so quickly."** Molly knew a threat when she heard one.

" **Where will they be going?"** She managed to get out. It wasn't a yes, but better than the resistance, she just offered the Laird. The question seemed to please him.

" **They will make their way through the countryside and up to Inverness."**

That piqued her interest. Molly's green eyes shot towards him. Did he just say what she thought he said? That was the magic word, quickly Molly's entire attitude shifted. **"When do we leave?"** Offering a smile to the Laird.

A small smirk slipped across Laird MacKenzie's lips. The closest thing to a smile Molly had seen from the man **"In three days. That should be enough to get your affairs in order."**

Truthfully, if he allowed it, she would leave tonight. Luckily for him, she didn't know where she was going **"More than enough."** She responded happily.

" **There's one more thing."** He quickly added. Molly was all ears; nothing could ruin her mood now. **"You may want to familiarize yourself with the books in the healer's chambers. You will act as such on this journey if needed."**

She had been wrong before. And there it was, she knew Calum didn't want her to follow them around and clean up after them, well-done. Molly's own common sense helped her figure out what a healer was **"I'm not qualified. I don't know how to—"** It was now her turn to be interrupted.

" **Aye, I know. We have no one."** This time Colum came across calmer, more patient with her with a hint of desperation. **"Ye're young, your hands steady, I've seen your work with a needle."** The Laird wasn't stupid; he knew this was a tall order to ask of her. Especially with everything else he wanted from her.

There was so much more to medical care than just bandaging wounds. Molly didn't have the energy to explain this to the man. **"Stitching flesh is not the same thing as mending fabric."**

" **Let us pray ye won't have to."**

There came a long pause from both as silence filled the room. Molly's eyes darted to the pleats in her skirt, mulling over everything Colum told her. The only thing keeping her from retracting her yes was the promise of Inverness. **"Dougal is going to hate this."** Breaking her silence.

" **Good thing he doesn't decide."**

The morning he got the call from his mother, Rory booked a flight back to Scotland. Leaving Boston and his wife behind in the hopes he would return with their daughter. He had been in Scotland for two months with no signs of Molly anywhere. The only clues they had were what they found at _Craigh na Dun._ No signs of a struggle, no blood, one missing woman, and no answers.

His nerves shot as he paced around his mother's garden, a glass of whiskey in one hand as he flicked a cigarette in the other. Slowly the male brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a long final drag before crushing the nicotine stick under his shoe. Slowly turning on his heel, Rory watched Rose through the partially open sliding door. She had been on the phone all day, surrounding herself with flyers as she had been since day one. Rory's brows furrowed as he ran his hand through his mop of salt and pepper hair once much darker when he wore a younger man's clothes. Letting out an exhausted breath, Rory made his way into the house and to the kitchen to meet his mother. He didn't speak right away but waited for her to get off the phone. His back turned while leaning over the sink emptying his glass and placing it in the sink. Then he heard the phone hang up. Rory turned around to face her. He leaned up against the sink folding his hands across his chest. **"Why are ye doing this?"** He asked, but his mother didn't respond but tried to ignore him. **"Mom. Listen to me. It's been two months Molly isn't coming back."**

It was then he met the older women's cold stare. **"She's not dead, Rory. I can feel it in my bones."** Her eyes fell to her tabletop staring at the missing person flyers she had made in hopes someone had seen her, but deep in her own heart, she knew she wasn't missing. Not really. **"You and I both know what happened…"** Her word's trailing off as her eyes met her sons.

Rory looked back at her before taking a seat across from her. **"She might as well be..."** He finally replied. That response did not sit at all with his mother.

" **Rory James McFadden St. Claire."** Rose scolded, pulling herself from her chair. Immediately cut off before finishing her thought.

" **I lived there. Ye remember that? I haven't forgotten."** Suddenly finding himself raising his voice at the woman who raised him and called him her own.

" **Of course, I haven't my son. But you of all people. Do ye have no faith in ye're own Child? Ye own flesh and blood."**

There was a long pause. Rory's brows narrowed as his head hung low until. **"It's that place I have no faith in."** He responded in a whisper.


	8. Who are You?

Molly was two days away from leaving with Dougal and his men. She was going in blind. Sure, Molly tried to study the books and notes left behind from the former healer, but none of it made any sense to her. Either the writings were in Gaelic, which she was slowly understanding, or she was studying drawings of plants and fungi. Molly wasn't a botanist. She was a college dropout and a failed writer. It wasn't like she had time to do that much studying on top of her other responsibilities that kept her busy. Mrs. Fitz had her working; everything else had to be done on her own time, which was during meals or before bed. Panic had settled in, and the young woman wasn't sure how much longer she could continue playing her role.

The kitchen was alive with other women who seemed much happier than herself. Singing, gossiping with one another as they worked to prep for dinner. Molly wished she had that luxury. Her eyes kept a focus on her hands as she kneaded dough. However, her mind was elsewhere. Taking a moment to rest, Molly pulled up her apron to wipe away flour that managed to cling to her cheek. Taking in a deep breath, she began to work the bread dough some more but immediately interrupted. A basket dropped down next to her, kicking up a cloud of flour. Molly quickly paused what she was doing, trying to wave away the floating particles dancing in the air as she looked up to see who it was.

" **Can ye do me a favor, dear?"** Mrs. Fitz greeted with a warm smile. **"I prepared this for the Fraser boy. He missed his launch, and I'm sure the lad is hungry. Can ye bring it to him?"**

Molly smiled politely; while she listened to Mrs. Fitz explain what she wanted her to do. It was fine. She had no qualms about taking a break from the kitchen but, she had no idea who the Fraser boy was. **"I'm sorry, who?"** She finally asked after sneaking glances at the contents in the basket. When she looked up, Molly met Mrs. Fitz's quizzical look. The older woman looked about as confused as Molly was starting to feel. After a few unsure moments.

" **Jamie."** Mrs. Fitz clarified.

Molly quietly looked at her for a moment, and suddenly it clicked in her mind who she meant. Now she knew where the confusion was. **"Oh, you must mean Jamie MacTavish."** She was sure Mrs. Fitz was simply mixing up names.

The older woman's brows furrowed together. **"No. Fraser."** She replied in a matter-of-fact manner.

Molly raised a brow at the response. More confused than ever. The two women stood there, uncomfortably watching each other in silence until. **"Jamie, tall, handsome, mop of red hair?"** She felt as if she was missing something.

" **Aye!"** The older female snapped back. Everybody knew who he was. How was this so difficult?

She knew it was rude, but she really couldn't help but let the soft chuckle pass through her lips. **"I'm fairly certain that his name is MacTavish."** She spoke with Jamie at least twice a week. She knew who he was. Hell, he even told her his name was MacTavish.

It had become obvious Mrs. Fitz had enough of the foolishness. Her brows narrowed as she reached over, pushing the basket of goodies towards the American. **"And I'm certain his name is Fraser."** She would know. **"Are ye feeling okay, dear?"** She had added, giving Molly a strange look before walking away.

No. Molly wasn't feeling okay. Molly's eyes fell on the basket resting in front of her. She cleaned her hands across the bottom of her apron before removing it. Molly was so embarrassed, not to mention angry. He had lied to her, but people lied all the time. But when it happens from someone you consider a friend. That hurts. In this place, she didn't have a lot of friends. She was going to need to find out why.

The walk from the castle to the stables was not enjoyable. Molly's mind raced with all the nasty things she wanted to say to Jamie. With each hurried step she took, the American became angrier. Her eyes watched her feet as she moved across the grass. She had half a mind to keep the basket and make him starve for the night. But that was just petty.

Alone at the stables, Jamie was walking a young mare in the enclosed space. The Scotsman was unaware that anyone had joined him until he heard the raddling of the gate opening. A small grin slipped across his lips, noticing the American lass. **"What ye doin out here?"** He asked cheerfully as Molly's back turned. Soon she turned to face him. It became clear by the cold expression resting across her brow that she was not nearly as happy to see him. His gaze followed the brunette as she approached with the basket in hand.

" **Here. A gift from Mrs. FitzGibbons enjoy."** Molly explained as she shoved the basket into his arms. She was so angry with him, but once she was in front of Jamie, she didn't have the guts to say anything to him. Molly figured it was because she was not truthful about who she was either. But she couldn't tell anyone she traveled from the future. He was lying about his name. Somehow that seemed worst.

" **Ye're mad."** More like an outward observation. Molly didn't respond immediately but instead turned on her heel to walk away. Wanting to know what was wrong with his friend, Jamie quickly dropped the basket, grabbing Molly's arm, forcing her to turn back to look at him.

Quietly she looked up at him with a quizzical look. Her eye's looking in the opposite direction as she thought about how she wanted to approach him. After a few moments, she decided a direct approach was the best option. **"Jamie… what's your name?"** Molly asked. Jamie furrowed his brows. His mind spinning as he let out a nervous chuckle.

" **I know your name** **isn't MacTavish… Jamie Fraser."** Molly admitted once she realized he wasn't going to say anything. Though, to her surprise, the Scotsman didn't deny it.

His scowl softened as he took in a deep breath. **"Aye,"** Jamie replied. **"How did ye find out?"** He replied as calmly as his nerves allowed.

" **Mrs. Fitz. I stupidly referred to you as MacTavish, and she corrected me. I have never felt so idiotic in my life."** The moment Molly started talking, she couldn't help but let it all out. Jamie had reached out for her, but she had brushed him away. **"Why did you feel you had to lie to me?"** She started, finding it difficult to keep her eyes from swelling with tears. **"I'm new. I don't know very many people. You and Murtagh have been more than kind to me and…"** Being cut off.

" **I can explain everythin…"** Jamie pleaded. He watched as the brunette wiped a tear from her cheek.

" **Okay, Talk."**

Jamie let out a deep breath giving a small nod. They were alone, and he knew they were, but he still found himself looking this way and that to make sure. Soon the two found themselves hidden in an empty stall. Jamie had propped himself up on a stool, first looking down at his hands folded in his lap, then up to Molly, who stood, back pressed up against the wall with her arms crossed along her chest. **"I think ye should sit."**

" **No,"** Molly stated. **"I think I'll stand."** Her stare became more focused than ever on the Scotsman. Though, his own kept nervously looking away from her. Jamie was quiet; he was for a long time. An obvious sign he didn't want to talk about what it was he was going to tell her. They both knew Jamie didn't have a choice. He caught in a lie. Jamie knew lying some more was not an option. Finally, when Jamie did speak, he started like with any story at the beginning.

" **Four years ago, the Redcoats flogged me…"** He started. Molly didn't imagine this would be how his explanation would begin, but it certainly grabbed her attention. He continued with how they did it twice and in the same week. When asked why? Jamie explained how the first time was for escaping Fort William, and the second was for theft. And without being prompted, Jamie explained how it was Captain Randall who did the floggings. Suddenly, Molly found herself taking that seat after all. Her eyes grew wide, a lump formed in the back of her throat.

" **Why did you escape Fort William Jamie?"** She asked as calmly as she could. Trying to ignore the fact that the very mention of that monster's name ran chills down her spine.

" **I was a prisoner,"** Jamie explained. He glanced up with a far-off gaze as every painful memory came flooding back. The smell of iron, the cracking of the whip, and Randall whispering in his ear. It haunted him every time he closed his eyes, along with the hideous scars painted across his back; Another gift from him.

" **On what charge?"** Molly questioned, still studying the male.

Bring his focus back on the brunette **"Obstruction."** He simply replied. It seemed like such an absurd answer that naturally, Molly had to ask what that meant. The only response Jamie gave her was a slight shrug of his shoulders, meaning it was whatever the hell they wanted it to mean. Complete unjust use of power and control.

The two fell quiet for what felt like a long time. Mostly it was figuring out what happens now. It was a big deal that Jamie told her that. She didn't take that lightly. Molly also knew that there was more he probably wanted to say to her, but he told her the truth; that's all she wanted. The rest will come in time.

" **Jamie… I don't understand. I'd like to think we have become good friends. Why couldn't you share this before?"**

Feeling a bit more relaxed now. The male ran his hands through his mop of red hair, releasing a breath as he leaned back. **"I have a price on my head. Not a lot of people I can trust."**

That was a fair enough point. People will do anything for a little taste of wealth, and that was true anywhere. Taking a moment to comprehend everything Jamie had told her. One thing kept crossing her mind that she didn't pay much attention to until this moment when Jamie revealed his dark history with Randall. A small smirk slipped across her lips, glancing over at the Scotsman. **"Everything makes perfect sense now."**

Unsure by what she meant. Jamie gazed up with a quizzical look hoping she would expand more on that thought of hers.

" **I'm sorry."** She offered. Letting out a small chuckle at his confusion, she explained. **"It's just when you offered to let me ride with you, then sat with me around the campfire… you were trying to ask me about Randall, weren't you?"**

" **Aye."** His cheeks became flushed from being called out.

" **What about when you tried to lay next to me?"** She added. Now she was just toying with the poor lad.

" **Oh, I was truly cold."** Offering up a mischievous grin. Playfully Molly rolled her eyes at her friends' response. She didn't believe that, but truthfully, he didn't strike her as a man who would force himself on her or any woman.

The kidding aside, Molly wished he had told her this sooner. She tried hard to forget her own experience with Randall, but the man was going to kill her; that wasn't something you forget. Hearing Jamie's horrific tale put in perspective how truly unhinged the Captain was. She had been lucky to get out of that situation alive. If Murtagh had not been there, the story would be different. That man risked everything for her. She felt like she didn't thank him enough.

She wasn't sure how long they had been talking, but she felt exhausted. The sun hung a little lower, and there was still plenty to do. Letting out a sigh, Molly slowly pulled herself to her feet. **"I should go now."** Her eyes followed Jamie as he completed the same action. **"You can trust me, Jamie."** She told him. Jamie, who was in the middle of putting his jacket back on, paused to look at her smiling warmly.

" **I do,"** Jamie admitted. And that was the truth. Once they were out near the stable gates. **"Will we see ye after dinner?"** He asked casually. There was always some form of entertainment after they ate dinner, usually music. Molly never missed it, she enjoyed it, and Murtagh always seemed more than happy to translate for her.

" **Not tonight. I'm tired, and I have things to do."** Molly explained after thinking the question over. Jamie gave a gentle nod as he proceeded to open the gate for her when she suddenly turned on her heel. **"If you see Murtagh… can you tell him I say hello?"** the brunette asked with a soft smile.

" **Of course."** He offered. He kept his gaze upon her as she turned and walked away. _Interesting._ Jamie found himself thinking. He didn't see that coming. He knew that look. The wide-eyed gaze, and the longing hidden in her words. It was how Laoghaire always seemed to look at him and admittedly how he wished Molly would but never did. Their paths had crossed for an entirely different reason, but he felt a sense of pride for his dear friend. The poor bastard probably didn't even realize how smitten she was with him.

The night went on as usual. Dinner had ended. Everyone had their fill of pork and wine as they gathered together. The night full of life. The wine continued to flow as everyone waited for the entertainment to begin. Jamie snuck into the crowd in search of Murtagh, making sure to avoid certain people if he could help it. Just like their American friend had promised, Molly was nowhere in sight. Slowly moving behind a small group of women, Jamie caught the unmistakable Murtagh hiding in the back. The bearded male perched himself securely against the wall, arms folded in typical fashion. His brows furrowed like angry caterpillars, his head turning this way and that in search of someone. In a split second, the two made eye contact with Murtagh offering a slight nod of acknowledgment.

" **The lass isn't here."** Jamie addressed as he took his rightful spot next to Murtagh. He wasn't stupid; Jamie knew who he was searching to find. Murtagh didn't say anything in fear of admitting to something. Jamie looked down towards the floor, adjusting his stance when he glanced back over towards Murtagh. There was something noticeably different about him.

" **What!"** Murtagh barked, becoming a little too self-aware for his liking. Jamie continued to observe him until he unfolded his arms. Quickly the younger lad grabbed his wrist, studying his unusually clean nails. Murtagh pulled his arm back only for Jamie to grabbed the bottom of his kilt, exposing his knees. Causing Murtagh to brush the red-headed male away. **"What's wrong with ye lad?"**

" **You washed!"** Jamie replied through stifled laughter, irritating the older male further.

" **What a man does is his own business."** Closing himself off once again by folding his arms and looking forward. He stared at Jamie from the corner of his eye, waiting for the lad to collect himself. **"So... Ye've talked to Molly?"**

" **I have,"** Jamie added. This time more serious. Clearing his throat, he moved in closer, leaning in, making sure their conversation stayed between them . **"I told her about everything."** He admitted. Naturally, met with overwhelming concern from Murtagh.

" **What on God's green Earth made you do that?"**

" **She figured out I was lying. I had no choice it was the right thing to do."** Jamie continued.

Murtagh took a deep breath, rubbing his beard in thought. After a short moment. **"You care for the lass do ye?"** He asked plainly.

There was no hesitation from Jamie. **"Aye, I do."** He raised a brow. That wasn't what the other male wanted to hear. But he wasn't done yet. **"But… it is not I she fancies."** Jamie had Murtagh's full attention. Jamie offered a smirk, patting him across the shoulder, stepping away from the conversation.

Instinctively Murtagh quickly turned on his heel wanting to catch Jamie before he disappeared. He wanted to know what he meant by that, but what he got was the back of his head.

Jamie never did give him Molly's message.


	9. Origin Story

In the fall of 1994, a young man named Rory James McFadden St. Claire, a handsome 25-year-old Scottish immigrant, walked into Massachusetts General Hospital about to embark on the biggest journey of his life. Rory and his American wife Angela of two years were moments away from welcoming their first and only Child, Rory was a rookie firefighter only a few months into his new career. Prior he was doing odd jobs here and there to help pay the bills until his wife finished her teaching degree. Rory couldn't believe how far he had come. He never thought he would get married, find a job, let alone become a father, but here he was. He was a nervous wreck. Rory ran through burning buildings, pulled victims from car wrecks without giving it a second thought. But the idea of raising a child scared him shitless.

His green eyes stayed on Angela. His hand wrapped tightly around her fist. Sweat poured down her rosy cheeks, despite the young woman's agonizing pleads. He could only watch, offering words of love and encouragement; This was her fight. Even with the chaos and nurses, his focus was only on her. Angela was so much stronger than he could ever be. Rory leaned forward, brushing strands of her blonde hair from her forehead, gently giving her a soft kiss. Then, after giving her final push, she fell back into exhaustion. Her blue eyes met her husband's, offering a gentle but weak grin. A moment of silence, then the sounds of a healthy newborn baby crying filled the air.

" **Say hello to your baby girl."** The nurse smiled, handing the new baby over to Angela, who was eagerly waiting to hold her little girl.

Rory's eyes grew like saucers. His heart-pounding from his chest. Angela looked up toward her husband, the nervous hands of a new father cupped themselves under the life force created by the love of two people. The small child rested comfortably in the crook of his arm. **"Look at that. A bonny lass..."** He whispered. **"Hello, Molly."** The young father smiled through tears of joy.

A very typical experience; for a typical family. But Rory was anything but typical.

Rory James McFadden was born in 1693 by the river in a small village residing near Inverness. His parents Aileen and Hamish; raised pigs; this would be how they supported their small but growing family. Rory was their oldest and currently only child but, that wasn't going to last much longer. Aileen was expecting another, but tragedy would hit before the birth of their second child.

Harmony between the clans was far and in-between. Their biggest threat was each other. There was a power struggle happening for control over the highlands. Clan MacKenzie held control and would for many years to come. Rory's village was on MacKenzie's land. Under MacKenzie's protection, they lived in peace. However, one day in 1706, everything changed. The village had been ransacked and destroyed by a smaller clan looking to send a message to the MacKenzies. A lot of people were killed and displaced. 13-year-old Rory watched as his father's throat got slit while trying to fight off the invaders from stealing their pigs. Aileen told her young son to hide, Rory did just that. When he returned, Rory would find his home burnt to the ground. His mother and unborn sibling dead from smoke inhalation.

Word of the unsolicited attack got back to Castle Leoch. Rory, with so many others, found refuge behind the safety of the castle gates. For Rory, it was only to be a temporary stay but quickly turned into a permit arrangement. He had nothing to return to. Instead, he received work and a place to stay. Rory spent most of his time cleaning the stables and taking care of the horses. He created a close friendship with Laird Jacob MacKenzie's youngest son Dougal. The Boys were the same age, wild, and liked to get into trouble. The best friends would tease how Dougal would be the future Laird, and Rory would be his War Chieftain. However, this would never happen.

It was 1709, Rory just turned 16. Rory had returned to the stables after taking one of the stallions out for a run. His name was Roan Rory's favorite. He was approached by Dougal, who came sprinting towards the gate, running through the mud. Dougal had grown into a tallboy. Rory, who always seemed to be a few inches shorter, was now eye to eye with his friend. Rory was tall, thin, his dark curly locks of hair pulled out of his face.

Catching his breath, Dougal handed over an envelope. **"From the Laird."** He never referred to the Laird as his father, at least not in front of others.

" **Aye, but what is it?"** Rory questioned, grabbing the envelope from the other boy's hand. His eye's studying the curious piece of paper.

" **Rory..."** Dougal started slowly. Closing the distance between himself and his friend. A cheeky grin slipped across young Dougal's lips, giving his friend a hardy yet playful shove. **"He wants it sent to Inverness… He wants ye to do it!"** He explained with enthusiasm. It was a big deal.

" **Me? Why?"** The stable boy asked, sounding as shocked as he looked.

" **Ye're our fastest rider and he trusts ye!"**

 _Wow._ That's the only thought crossing the young boy's mind. Usually, only the most experienced riders were tasked; with deliveries for the Laird. Roy's mind was in such a fog he had forgotten Dougal had been talking to him until he was met with a sudden smack to the cheek.

" **Ye goin?"**

" **Aye, I'll do it."** Rory finally agreed. Both unaware this would be the last night they would ever see each other again.

After receiving more information on where this letter was going, Rory was off with the assistance of Roan. The last image Rory would have seen was Castle Leoch disappearing behind him. It took him about two days, but he had finally made it to _Craigh na Dun_. He was so close to completing his mission, Roy could taste it. This one task would open his doors to so many opportunities. Roy could not fail. The stones started to appear over the hill. It was a beautiful and yet mysterious sight. He had heard stories about the standing stones. Some said they were cursed; others said fairies lived there. Honestly, he thought they were full of shit.

The young lad jumped from his steed, securing him to a nearby tree. Rory had stopped off to relieve his bladder. It was odd, being so out in the open but with no soul around. He kept his eyes on his boots but sneaked glances at the stones. He could have cared less about them, but it was like he was being called. After fastening his belt, Rory decided to do a quick look around; he didn't see the harm in it. He had moved across the circle and found the whole structure disappointing. What was the fuss about stupid rocks? Turning on his heel, he had reached in his pocket to make sure the letter was secure. Upon pulling his hand back, he managed to bring the letter with it. He watched as it floated gracefully to the ground. As soon as he bent down to grab it, the wind suddenly picked up, taking the letter for an unexpected ride.

" **Shit!"** He blurted out in a panic. He moved as quickly as his legs allowed, always an inch from grabbing the parchment. The wind continued to taunt him until the letter found itself pressed against the famous cleft stone. Rory slowly approached as if he was cornering prey. Then, he heard the most peculiar sound, a buzzing sound. His head lifted as his eyes met the face of the stone. He could have sworn the sound was coming directly from the stone curiously Rory leaned in close enough that he still wasn't touching the stone but enough to hear the buzzing clearer. Losing his balance, the male pressed the palms of his hands against the stone. It felt like the air sucked out of his body, and everything went black.

The curly-haired male woke feeling like the wind had knocked out of him. His green eyes stared at the blue sky above. Engulfed in a blanket of confusion, Rory slowly pulled himself to his feet. He stood there for a moment, thinking he died, but he felt fine. His head darted this way then that while observing his surroundings. Something was off. It looked the same, but different at the same time. The tugging worry in the pit of his stomach snuck upon him. All his stuff was gone. Was he robbed? Riddled with panic, the male found himself running down the hill when suddenly stopping in his tracks. His horse and the trees had all vanished; in its place was some winding road with strange lines. He looked further down and appearing out of nowhere. A big metal moving device whooshed right past him. The lad fell right on his back, practically giving himself a heart attack; shortly after, another one rushed by and another. Finding the courage to get up, he noticed some paper on the edge of the road. Quickly, grabbing for it. He realized it was an article. What he found that made the breath leave his body was the date printed on the top… _Monday, September 25, 1985._

He couldn't peel his eyes away; this couldn't be happening. " **This doesn't make sense."** Turning his head slowly. His eyes landed back on the stones in disbelief. His stomach was in knots as he made his way back up the hill. Rory kept telling himself he was dreaming, but what he was feeling felt too real to be a dream. The wind blew slightly, and the young lad found himself standing there in fraught. Something did happen, but he was uncertain of what. He felt so alone. Suddenly, he slid his foot back but managed to lose his footing; falling back, he rolled violently down the hill smacking his head against a boulder knocking him out cold. He didn't know it at the time, but 34 years down the road, history would repeat itself.

* * *

" **She's late. That woman is gonna hold us back."** Dougal groaned. He seemed to be in a particularly foul mood this morning. Dougal wasn't keen on Molly tagging along, though it seemed, after the peculiar encounter outside of Colum's study, his attitude toward the American was growing with more hostility. Molly figured it was because it had stirred up memories and emotions he wanted to forget.

" **I'm preciously on time. In fact, I was early."** Pulling her hood down, Molly turned around to face the War Chieftain with a cheeky grin. **"I was wondering where you were."** Raising a brow. She didn't care if he liked her or not. He wasn't her concern. She wanted to get to _Craigh na Dun_. The stifled laughter from the rest of the crew did not go unnoticed either by the stern leader.

" **Ye might want to try and make an effort on being on his good side lass,"** Murtagh whispered in her ear after quietly stepping up behind her. Her eyes stayed on her horse, but she noticed both his arms reaching across her shoulders, fixing the loose straps on her saddle.

" **Now ye won't fall on yer face."** He commented before walking back over to Jamie.

Molly Didn't utter a word. Gently, she turned her head over her shoulder. Her green eyes following the scruffy-bearded male though he never looked back. However, she felt a noticeable skip in her heartbeat.


	10. Tell Me the Truth

The further they traveled from Castle Leoch, the more anxious Molly started to feel. The idea of going home to her real home was now coming to fruition. Though, she couldn't deny that her heartfelt heavy knowing she would be saying goodbye to her new friends. Some she would miss more than others. But there was no doubt that this was the best thing she could do for herself. She was living someone else's life. As much as she tried to convince herself that she belonged, she just didn't.

The start of the group's trip went according to plan. The sun was shining, a rarity for the highlands, but offered a sense of comfort for Molly. For her, it was a hopeful sign that this would be successful. Her companions were in equally high spirits, a lot of laughter and chatter. Eventually, once Dougal found a location that the War Chieftain found suitable, they made camp. To his credit, it was a nice spot to stay for the night, hidden under the protection of trees, with a reliable water source. Making camp went quickly with everyone chipping in. Molly made it a point to stay out of Dougal's way, and he acted as if he didn't notice her at all. However, Angus was more than happy to put her to work in her role as "Den Mother" by having her sew the torn stitching in his jacket. Despite the rudeness in which he asked, Molly was more than happy to assist. If they were going to be collecting payments on the Lairds' behalf, they all needed to look the part.

The fire was roaring, offering a welcoming warmth from the brisk air. The group gathered around enjoying the few hours they had left of sunlight. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, so it was pivotal for them to relax before they went to work. Molly sat snugged between Murtagh and Jamie. Her focus was on finishing the sleeve on Angus's jacket but still managed to listen in on the conversation happening around her. Occasionally, glancing up with a little more attention whenever Murtagh contributed.

Dougal, unlike his counterparts, didn't engage at all. The brash male sat the furthest away from everyone, drinking his whiskey while quietly observing everyone else, or more accurately, Molly.

" **I'm getting more firewood… Molly join me."** Dougal announced suddenly.

The request came as a surprise; the man hadn't spoken a word to her since they left the castle gates. Molly shifted where she sat. She ignored the request. Or at least tried; the way he was staring at her was unsettling.

Silence fell around the entire camp. Awkward glances shared amongst each other. The hostile tone in his words didn't go ignored by any of them, especially Molly.

" **I'll go."** Rupert volunteered. He was all ready to his feet, but Dougal wouldn't allow it.

" **No. I want, miss St. Claire. We need to talk."** It was clear that Dougal wasn't requesting but demanding it.

Reluctantly Molly complied. She was sure there was no escape route either. Giving a glance to Jamie, who shrugged his shoulders, she disappeared with Dougal leading the way. Molly stayed a few feet back, wanting to keep as much distance between them as possible. He was quiet until he felt they were far enough away from the camp.

" **Do ye like it here miss St. Claire?"** His head turned slightly over his shoulder.

It felt like a loaded question, and one she didn't want to answer. **"Yes."** Molly finally answered. She did that was true, but she also knew she needed to go home. Slowly, Dougal had turned on his heel to look at her.

" **Do ye think you overstayed ye're welcome lass?"**

Subtle, wasn't he? It was almost laughable. And she needed to try a little harder? **"You know… I'm starting to think you don't like me."** She joked. **"Why? Because I remind you of someone?"**

" **No,"** Dougal stated plainly while closing the distance between himself and the American. Leaning into her ear. **"I don't trust you…"** For a moment, their eyes locked before he pulled away from her.

It felt like her heart jumped into her throat. She knew she would regret it, but she had to ask. **"Why?"**

The older male smiled as if he knew she would ask. Casually he folded his arms across his chest, ready to unleash his paranoia upon her. **"Perhaps it's how ye showed up at the stones exactly as the English. You say you have a grandmother in Inverness? yet ye haven't tried writing to her. Wouldn't ye think she would like to know her flesh and blood was okay?"** He had raised a question that she was unable to answer. Molly stood there, her mind spinning, trying to come up with a reasonable response, but she froze. Before she even had the chance, Dougal continued with his interrogation. **"For the life of me, I can't seem to figure out how everyone is fooled—"** his words trailed.

Molly was horrified. She wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock. Molly didn't dare to look at him but felt him peering down at her. Clearing her throat, Molly looked back at him, and she lied. **"You're right. I don't have a Grandmother in Inverness."** She hesitated. **"She had died during my journey to Scotland."** It was true, in the sense that currently, she wasn't alive, not if Molly stayed trapped in this time. By his line of questioning, it seemed he thought she was working with the English. Her heart raced, and all Dougal did was stare at her. It was clear he didn't care for her story. **"I didn't know of her passing until I arrived in Inverness. The news came so suddenly, I didn't have any place to go. That's why I have stayed. Running into the English was pure coincidence."** She explained frantically, but her efforts were lost.

Only inches from Molly, Dougal stared her down with furrowed brows. **"Maybe it's time you go back to yer own country."** He expressed coldly.

She couldn't think of a time where she felt more lonely, unwanted, or unwelcomed. And she walked in on her fiancé, screwing another woman. She would be lying if she said Dougal hadn't hurt her feelings, but at the same time, why should she care? Did she want to leave? Molly fought to hold back the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. Furrowing her brows, she cleared her throat, **"Don't you worry about me. I'll be gone sooner than you think!"** She spat. Pushing her way past Dougal, she felt the male gripping his fingers tightly around her forearm.

" **Just leave me alone."** Pushing him away once more before heading back toward the camp.

* * *

**September 25, 1985**

Wakening to an odd beeping sound. Rory's green eyes slowly opened, meeting the floodlight of florescent lighting igniting his already throbbing head. Messy dark curls fell in his face as the teenage boy shot up in his hospital bed. Beads of nervous sweat rolled down his cheeks. White walls everywhere; he couldn't explain what it was he was looking at. His head shot towards the box next to him, making the strange noises. Little green squiggles moved across the surface. What was this magic? The room had lit up by electricity; he was sure of it, but how was that even possible. He went to pull the blankets off but was met with resistance by the wires connected to his arm and hand.

His head shot this way and that trying to make sense of it all. But nothing did. Just like any scared Child, he started to cry. **"Help! Help me!"** He screamed out in desperation.

A response happened quickly. A young woman in her twenties, dressed in a white uniform, came rushing into the room. **"I know, I know. You're alright. You're okay."** She consoled him. She placed her soft hands along Rory's shoulder, getting him to lay back down.

" **Where am I?"** Rory whined. He would then learn that this woman was named Amy, and she was his nurse, and he was in the hospital. At the time, he was too worried and afraid to ask what any of those things meant. But it didn't necessarily feel bad. Amy was trying her best to help him.

" **You had a nasty fall and hit your head. But don't worry you'll be good as new."** He didn't speak another word but continued to stare at her like a deer in headlights. Until. **"And Rory. Your parents are in the hall waiting. I'm going to send them in. They have been worried about ye."**

" **My parents?"** Rory mumbled, now more confused than ever.

His eyes followed Nurse Amy to the door. The red-headed woman stepped out and walked in Rose and Robert St. Claire. A handsome couple in their early forties. Robert was tall, with messy short brown hair and a toothy grin. Rose was blue-eyed, short with long curly blonde hair and a warm smile. Rory's eyes immediately fell on the woman. She had his clothing folded so neatly and pressed securely against her chest. The two moved cautiously across the room to Rory's bedside. He was at a loss for words. His eyes fixed on them as they figured out what to say to the boy. The silence felt like it had lasted an eternity until Rose decided to break the uncomfortable silence.

" **Rory..."** She started slowly. **"I'm Rose and this is my husband Robert."**

" **How do ye know my name?"**

" **It's on yer canteen lad,"** Robert added with a chuckle.

" **Bobby. Don't laugh."** Rose whispered. Causing Robert to give a sympathetic look to the young time-traveling Highlander,

" **Where am I? I need to go to Inverness!"** Rory frantically yelled out. Pulling at the wires, trying to free himself from what he thought was a prison.

" **I know ye're scared, but we can explain everything if you let us!"** Rose intervened. Gently, she brushed the mop of curls from Rory's freckled face. The motherly touch seemed to give a calming effect as the boy managed to relax.

Robert offered a look to his wife. Folding his hands together in his lap; his eyes fell to the ground before glancing back up at Rory. Clearing his throat. **"You are in Inverness. It's just not the Inverness ye remember."** It was at this point Rose had got up, moved towards the door to close it for privacy because what they were going to tell him next was unbelievable. Robert waited for Rose to sit back down.

" **Rose and I—we—we were—"** This was harder than he thought it would be. **"We were picnicking at, or well near the stones when you… you know, appeared."**

Rose, who remained relatively quiet up to this point, could no longer hold her composer. **"It was an absolute miracle! I glanced over at the stone circle and it was empty. I blinked and suddenly there ye were."** She began to smile through the tears forming behind her eyes. **"I have prayed for so long for a Child and suddenly there you were."**

It had been no secret. The St. Claire's were unable to have children of their own. Rose's body was unable to produce eggs. They had spent a lot of time and effort looking into fertility treatments, but treatments were expensive and financially out of reach. The next step was adaption, and, in every aspect, they were the perfect candidates. Rose ran a floral shop. Robert was an accountant; they had a humble country home, respectable members of the community. They were also in the unique position of wanting a child of any age; however, the waitlist was long, and they had been waiting for a few years. Their encounter with Rory, by all accounts, was an astronomical miracle. Being a couple of strong faith, this truly felt like an answer from God.

" **How old are ye lad?"** Robert asked after studying him.

" **Sixteen..."** Rory managed to get out, though his attention was on everything else around him and not on Mr. And Mrs. St. Claire. **"What happened to my horse? What happened to Roan?"** He suddenly asked. It was clear he didn't understand what it is that had happened or that he was doing everything in his power to ignore it.

This scenario was completely unfathomable. Both were more than sympathetic to Rory. But for them, the truth of what happened was right there in their face. They both knew what they had seen. Rory fell from the stones.

" **What year is it?"** The young Highlander shouted out in desperation but met with nervous hesitation from both Rose and Robert.

" **What year do you think it is Rory?"** Rose cautiously asked.

" **1709."** He looked at them as if they were out of their minds.

The only sound heard was the beeping from the machines in the room. The couple looked at each other, neither one able to find the words to tell him the truth. After a long minute, Rose slowly reached across, grasping Rory's thin hand into her own. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the teenager, their eyes meeting, and she replied as calmly as she could. **"1985."**

You could see the color draining from Rory's face. His jaw clenched together. His green eyes slowly looked down. His brows furrowed as he pulled away as if he touched fire. Snapping his eyes up to Rose than to Robert. **"That's impossible…"**


	11. Still Waters Run Deep

Day one had arrived. Their first stop, a quaint little village exactly as Molly imagined. Farm animals everywhere, small cottages lined next to each other. It was like a scene from _Brave Heart_ , but real and without the glorification of Hollywood. On their arrival, a small group of men formed. There was a mix of emotions from the tenants. Some indifferent while others were noticeably worried. These locations were on MacKenzie land; if these people paid a small fee, they would have the clan's protection. While Molly couldn't stand the man, the people loved Dougal. He had a way of easing their minds.

Molly, despite the anger she felt towards Dougal, felt very excited. Having firsthand experience in this historical way of life was incredible. However, it seemed the War-Chief wanted to squash Molly's hope of helping as soon as the idea came to mind. Molly spent her time helping set up the collection table, even greeted men in line. Eventually, taking a seat next to Jamie, who has been through this process before. He explained in detail how it worked, but soon after they were interrupted by Dougal tapping Molly across the shoulder, Dougal motioned for her to step aside with him. Reluctantly Molly followed.

She could only imagine what it was Dougal wanted. Telling someone to go back to their own country seemed hard to follow-up. Knowing Dougal, he would think of something, and he didn't disappoint.

" **I think it's best if ye let us men handle the rest of this. You should go for a walk. Having ye around will cause too much of a distraction for these men."**

 _Let the Men handle it? A distraction?_ Molly stopped herself from laughing at the sheer stupidity of what he said. **"I set everything up with no help from you. Now I'm told I can't even stand there and watch quietly?"** With a defiant shake of her head. **"No. I'm staying."**

Dougal gazed down at the younger woman with furrowed brows, rubbing his chin, mulling over what she said until. **" No."**

Molly didn't want to create a scene in front of everyone, but the longer Dougal stood with his arms folded and domineering personality, the more frustrated she became.

Slowly Molly folded her arms while her eyes narrowed. **"Laird MacKenzie wanted me on this trip to help!"** Molly barked. She didn't need to look to know her outburst caused curious eyes to peer over. **"I'm helping."**

" **Laird MacKenzie isn't in charge, now is he?"** Dougal added smugly. Unfolding his arms, he took a steady step forward, closing what little distance between them. **"Take a walk."** He commanded with an unyielding stare.

Molly pursed her lips together, giving a cold stare of her own at how unfair he was being. In her mind, Molly wasn't going to put up with it until realizing Dougal wasn't changing his mind. **"Fine."** Her response somber.

Like a dog with their tail between their legs, Molly sauntered back to the table, brushing past Murtagh, who stood quietly, pretending he hadn't eavesdropped on the conversation. Molly reached across the table, grabbing for her gloves **."Have fun."** She told them all but offering a weary smile to Murtagh.

Dougal waited for Molly to disappear into the Village; turning back towards his men, he let out a whistle, motioning for Murtagh.

" **Go follow her."** The War-Chief commanded.

Feeling put out from the request, Murtagh shot a stare towards the other male **."Why?"** He snorted.

" **Just do it. Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."**

If it was a choice between watching men stand in line or following a beautiful lass around, the choice was simple. What Murtagh didn't like was how unnecessary it was, although he knew why Dougal was doing it and lacked the energy to argue with him. Besides, his view became significantly better. Half-heartedly, Murtagh agreed. Quickly he left to look for the American.

The village seemed much larger than Molly originally thought. The homes stretched further; there was a blacksmith; one woman was going around with a wheelbarrow full of produce mostly carrots, and lettuce. Molly wasn't sure, but it looked like she was trying to sell them. Children were running around, other women hanging laundry, life felt normal. It was enjoyable watching these everyday experiences. It was a simplicity that she learned to love. While she strolled around, Molly didn't even find herself thinking about Boston; she was thinking about Mrs. Fitz, and what work was waiting for her when she returned. Then she would hear a sound or smell a smell that reminded her of where she was and why she was there, but more often than not, she felt homesick for the place she had started to call home.

Molly had been walking around aimlessly, unsure of how much time had passed until deciding she was gone long enough. Molly started to head in the direction she came, her eyes diverted to the ground while she lifted the bottom of her skirt from dragging in the mud. It wasn't until she felt a man's grip that she realized someone followed her.

" **Watch ye're step lass."** Murtagh intervened, helping her over the mud puddle.

Molly looked up at the scruffy male and smiled warmly. **"Have you been following me the entire time?"** She felt relief knowing it was him.

" **Aye."** Murtagh became hesitant worried about her response. To his surprise, the young woman seemed unfazed, and in a way, pleased.

" **I don't mind."** She told him softly. Walking ahead, Molly glanced over her shoulder at Murtagh, hoping he'd walk with her instead of idly behind.

There was something about her, something about the way she watched him. Murtagh thought, catching his breath every time Molly looked at him. She had the sweetest demeanor, and her smile even sweeter. He knew this feeling he had been here before. Molly seemed to like him well enough, although his own experience made him cautious.

" **Can I ask you a question?"** Molly asked suddenly, as she studied Murtagh curiously.

The quiet Scotsman peered over at her with a raised brow. **"Aye."** Intrigued by the question.

" **Well.."** She began slowly. **"It's just.."** It was harder to ask than she thought, originally. Nervously she shoved her hands in her skirt pockets, taking a deep breath. **"Your opinion of me matters to me and I was… okay. I was just wondering… do you think I'm a spy?"**

The way she stammered over her words had piqued his interest until he heard the question. Murtagh remembered every detail from their first encounter. It upset him that Molly felt she had to ask. Dougal's poison casting doubt in her mind. Becoming noticeably quiet, he stopped walking. Murtagh gently reached for her arm, forcing Molly to stop and look at him. Her smile became replaced with a look of worry. **"I know yer no a spy."** That was the truth. He would stake his life on it. Lifting his hand from Molly's shoulder, Molly took hold of it. Her gaze fell while she softly clasped Murtagh's hand. She didn't speak right away.

" **Thank you. You're a good man Murtagh."** She told him earnestly. There were many things she wanted to say, but the words weren't there. It went without saying she felt something for the man that she knew. Murtagh had always been good to her, kind, never made her feel like an Outlander. Jamie too, but Murtagh was different.

He would have done anything to keep holding her hand, but her fingers slipped from his hold as soon as it happened. Murtagh looked up with her eyes meeting his, the only thing he thought to say was, **"Ye're too pretty no to smile."** Not what he wanted to say, but it did elicit a smirk and a signature eye-roll from the lass.

" **You and Jamie are very close,"** Molly pointed out as they walked; this being the only time they had been alone together since the account with the English soldier, it felt like the perfect time to get to know him a little bit. **"How long have you known him?"**

" **His whole life,"** Murtagh explained. **"Jamie's my Godson."** He wanted to leave it at that but felt compelled to say more. It was in the way her pretty green-eyes looked up at him. Made him weak. **" I was his father's second cousin. When Jamie was a week old I swore an oath to his mother that I would follow Jamie always, do his bidding and guard his back when he became a man."** Naturally, upon hearing this, Molly had to ask why? Murtagh continued to explain to her about wooing Jamie's mother Ellen and killing the Boar, and using the tusks to make bracelets for her, and how Ellen married Jamie's father. So the bracelets became a wedding gift instead. The story left a clear mark on the young woman.

Flabbergasted, Molly replied, **"Murtagh, that is the most romantic thing I have ever heard."** Men of modern society needed to take notes. No one had ever tried to woo her before, at least not like that. It was the type of romantic gesture you fond of in books and movies. Never real life.

Being described as romantic was a first he certainly wasn't trying to be. Hearing the compliment caused Murtagh to wrinkle his nose. Trying his best to redirect the conversation away from himself, Murtagh asked. **"Tell me, Molly any Scottish lads caught yer fancy?"** The man was curious.

She knew what she wanted to tell him, but fear prevented Molly from speaking the truth. **"Maybe."** Playing coy, she glanced over to Murtagh. **"I thought you didn't meddle in the affairs of women?"**

" **Aye, I don't, but ye're no just a woman,"** Murtagh replied calmly.

Unsure by what he meant, Molly gave him a questioning look. **"What does that mean?"** Her tone offensive.

Murtagh had been watching the ground before looking over at Molly with raised brows. **"Ye're my friend."** He spoke with conviction.

Molly studied him quietly before shyly looking away. There certainly was more to Murtagh than meets the eye. The longer they spoke, the more time she wished they had. Opening her mouth to speak, Molly got cutoff by Murtagh, who had a follow-up question.

" **Ye have someone waiting for you back home?"**

Of course, Murtagh asked it was a natural question, but that didn't stop her from wanting to crawl under a rock. Molly felt unprepared; it immediately brought up memories and emotions she wanted to keep buried. She even contemplated changing the subject altogether, but at the same time felt that if Murtagh could share with her one of his most personal stories, she could do the same.

" **No… I was supposed to get married."** She started. By the look Murtagh gave her, it was not how he thought this conversation would go. Part of him felt guilty thinking; the story headed for a tragic end. In a way, it did.

" **His name was Miles. One day I found him in bed with another woman who I called my friend. She was tall, blonde… beautiful, everything I'm not. I guess she gave him what I couldn't. I thought he loved me. I was wrong."** Her words trailed at the end. It had been a long time since Molly brought this up to anyone. Hearing herself say it out loud made her feel ashamed as if something had to have been wrong with her. **"When my father found out. He punched him in the face."** Smiling, she looked over to Murtagh. **"He's been the only person to defend me like that. Except for you, you always seem to be exactly where I need you to be. Must be a Scottish thing."**

" **Yer his blood, and no matter what, a Scotsman will always defend his own. Yer one of us Molly, don't forget that. That Miles fellow is a fucking idiot if he couldn't see what he had. Any man would be honored to have you by their side."**

Once again, Murtagh had left her speechless. Sweet and warm, the opposite of what his outward appearance would lead you to believe.

" **Why, are you being so nice to me?"** Molly had to ask. Murtagh had been so good to her even now. It was a stark difference between him and Dougal. There had to have been a purpose behind it.

Murtagh went quiet, his dark eyes diverted to the ground, as he ran his hand through his beard. Glancing over to Molly. **"Yer letting me."**

Neither one had noticed they stopped walking again. Molly turned on her heel to get a better look at Murtagh, their eyes met, and a soft smile slipped across her lips. But it quickly disappeared when she observed how distracted he became. Molly watched his eyebrows furrow with his hand taking hold of the sword resting on his hip. Curious as to what he was seeing Molly turned. She immediately wished she hadn't. Three Redcoats were hanging around the blacksmith. They had no idea how long the soldiers had been there, but there they were clear as day. Molly felt her stomach sink than as she watched the soldiers, two began to turn in their direction. Not knowing what to do, she threw herself against Murtagh, burying her face against his chest. Murtagh offered no resistance, only tightened his hold on her. Lowering his head, he concealed his face from the soldiers. Whether they would recognize them or not, they didn't know, but that was a risk they weren't going to take.

After a few minutes, Molly took a chance to see if the soldiers were still facing them, but they had started to disperse in the opposite direction. Lifting her head, Molly looked up at Murtagh, who repeated the same action. She then realized she was still holding onto him. **"I'm sorry."**

Without skipping a beat. **"I'm no complaining lass,"** Murtagh replied.

Finally, the two managed to pull themselves apart, and in perfect timing, Angus came strolling their way, motioning for them to hurry up.


	12. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: A portion of this chapter will be in Gaelic with some character translation, but I suggest using Google Translator.

The near run-in with the red-coats and the fatigue of travel left the party on edge. To boost morale Angus, and Rupert suggested making a detour to give them all a break and experience a night of fun. Surprisingly, Dougal did not argue with the idea but left Molly wondering what his motive was. The War Chieftan was an all-work and no-play kind of guy. The shift in plans added a day to their schedule but overlooked by the promise of a warm bed, hot food, and entertainment.

When they arrived, the location was a hub of activity. It felt less like a village and more like a trading post. The street crowded, men buying and selling goods, entertainment, and boarding for weary travelers. Molly had not seen anything like it. The more she had a chance to explore, the more she warmed up to the idea of staying the night. Molly grew accustomed to sleeping under the stars, but if Molly had to listen to Jamie snoring some more, Molly was going to smother him in his sleep. She owed herself some fun.

Daylight slowly faded tonight; the atmosphere seemed to change entirely. The people rowdier, the alcohol flowing heavier, but it was the entertainment that pulled it all together. Liquid courage gave anyone the motive to show off their hidden talents, anything from music, storytelling, and magic tricks, some notably better than others, but enjoyable nonetheless. Molly had not seen Rupert or Angus in hours. The last she had seen them, they were on the hunt for ale and women. Dougal wound up chatting with men he had seemed to know, Jamie and Murtagh in and out of view, mostly enjoying the sights and sounds now and again checking in on Molly, who kept herself planted in front of the stage outside one of the multiple taverns. Eventually, the two men returned to their friend. Murtagh perched himself against the side of the stage, enjoying his drink, while listening to the music every now again, stealing glances at Molly. He could not help but let out a few good chuckles, Jamie was trying to teach her traditional Scottish dances, but despite everything Molly seemed to be good at, dancing was not her thing.

" **Step to the right. No, the other. My other right."** Jamie watched as Molly stumbled over her own feet. She was terrible.

" **That is right!"** Molly argued. Her brows furrowed in frustration, watching her feet. **"Oh, never mind that is the left."** She looked up at Jamie, and the two busted out into laughter.

" **You're horrible at this!"** Jamie needled.

" **I'm-you're right."** There was a good reason why she never wanted to be a dancer.

Murtagh slowly brought his mug to his mouth, pausing as he watched the two laughing. He had no idea what they were saying, but it was lovely regardless. For the first time in a long while, Jamie was allowed to be the young lad that he was. Molly seemed to be enjoying herself also. The older Scotsman did not recall ever seeing her so happy. The way the corner of her eyes crinkled and her head fell back when she laughed, or the gentle way she tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, made his heart flutter. Suddenly, Murtagh noticed an older woman approaching Jamie offering for a dance. Molly smiled warmly, stepping aside for them. Then, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his from across the crowd, and for a moment, Murtagh felt stone-cold sober. Soon her body turned towards him, closing the distance between them.

" **What are you doing, sulking in the corner?"** Molly asked as she approached, offering a cheeky grin.

Murtagh's dark eyes darted toward the stage as he took a sip from his cup. **"Listening to music."** It was only partially true, but he was not about to admit to Molly that he had been watching her. **"Ye should stick to yer storytelling. I have never seen anyone with two left before."** He teased. Immediately met with a light slap to his shoulder.

" **Can you dance?** " Molly questioned. Her arms folded across her chest with her head tilted up, waiting for Murtagh to respond.

And without skipping a beat. **"Aye, I'm a great dancer."** Murtagh coolly replied. Molly continued to study him. She could not decide if he was being truthful or not. He was a hard one to read when he wanted to be.

" **Oh yeah, show me."** Molly egged on.

" **No."** Murtagh shrugged. He wasn't drunk enough for that. Taking a deep breath, he went to take another drink from his mug only to find it empty. Molly looked back over to Jamie, who could not seem to get away from the woman dancing with him. But Murtagh, his focus still on the American lass until.

" **That woman over there is doing palm readings."** Molly pointed out before looking back over to Murtagh.

His eyes quickly diverted in the direction she mentioned. **"Aye, she has been all night. Making out like a bandit from my account."** Murtagh was considerably well-read, and it always amazed him how people seemed to fall for these types of scams. But at the same time, people needed hope and faith. A sense that whatever they were facing right now would somehow get better. Why ruin someone's day by telling them their belief was stupid?

" **Give me your hand."** Molly requested. Murtagh furrowed his brows in curiosity, but before he could respond, Molly had grabbed his hand into hers. **"I want to read your palm."** She smiled playfully.

Murtagh enjoyed seeing this more playful side of her. It fit her warm personality; most of the time, Molly walked around like she had a heavy burden weighing her down. **"Ye know how to read palms?"** The male questioned.

" **No, but I had a reading once,"** Molly admitted. Her eyes fell to Murtagh's hand as he willingly opened his palm up on her own. Gently, she dragged her fingertips along his skin. He had big hands, strong, Callused from years of hard work, yet surprisingly soft.

" **And what does yer third eye see Madame St. Claire."** Murtagh teased.

" **Umm."** Molly started through a stifled laugher. Her eyes narrowed into a quizzical look; her free hand stroked her chin like she was in deep thought. After a short moment. **"Interesting, very interesting."** It was hard to keep a straight face. **"I see a vast amount of wealth coming your way. This line right here is your marriage line. But it splits, you'll be married twice, your first marriage looks to be short-lived, but your second looks to be long and happy."**

For a moment, he almost believed her up until the marriage bit. **"Now, I no ye're lying to me. I'm not the marrying type."**

" **I don't know about that. I think you have a lot of wonderful qualities."** Molly replied timidly. She heard herself say it but lacked any courage to look up at Murtagh. He had fallen silent, not unusual, but Molly feared she embarrassed him, which in turn caused her to experience the second-hand embarrassment of her own. Then, as she was ready to let go of his hand, Murtagh clasped his free hand over hers, sandwiching them together. Hesitantly she glanced up only to be met by his warm stare. His brown eyes narrowed as he prepared to say something profound but instead.

" **Shit."** The Scotsman grumbled under his breath. His hand dropped from Molly's as he went to wipe his mouth in frustration.

The first thing Molly thought was, w _hat now?_ Frustrated, she looked to see what was going on, and there he was, Dougal, stumbling his way to the stage. He looked like a man on a mission, and naturally, she had to ask. **"What is he doing?"**

For the first time, Murtagh didn't have an answer for her. He didn't respond at all. The look on his face expressed that he knew what Dougal was up to but didn't approve.

Drunken laughter danced around the crowd as the stern War Chieftan stood in front of God and country. For a moment, he laughed along with the heckling until he motioned for everyone to settle down. **"Good evening brothers."** He started. Immediately the crowd irrupted again as it became clear he was not about to perform for them. Dougal had his hands folded in front of him as he smiled. He gave a quick side-eye to the American before clearing his throat. **"Tha luchd-ionnsaigh a 'fuireach nar measg. Tha iad a 'bagairt air a dearbh dhòigh-beatha agad. Sasannach. Tha na Sasannaich den bheachd gur e seo am fearann aca. Tha iad a 'creidsinn nach eil thu airidh air an fhìor anail nad bhroilleach."**

Of course, he would speak Gaelic. Molly new three words out of what he said. English one of them, which left her wondering what the hell Dougal was saying to these people. The crowd slowly grew quiet. Molly peeked over her shoulder to get Murtagh's attention, but he too was fixated on what Dougal was saying. **"Tha iad airson gun cuir thu sìos chun Rìgh aca agus faighinn cuidhteas cò sinn. Tha Highlander borb nan sùilean, nas lugha na daoine. Beathaichean aig a 'char as fheàrr. Tha cuid agaibh ... air na Outlanders sin a leigeil a-steach do na dachaighean agad. Thug thu biadh dhaibh agus thug thu blàths dhaibh. Airson dè? Mar sin is urrainn dhaibh am fearann agad a ghoid, èigneachadh do bhoireannaich fhad 's a tha iad a' crathadh an dathan ann an aghaidhean yer?"**

Finally, Molly had enough. She turned on her heel, demanding Murtagh's attention. **"What is he saying?"** This time it was not a request.

Murtagh never took his eyes off of Dougal. Translating while trying to listen had been harder than it would seem; after a moment of recalling what Dougal said already. Murtagh, who had been standing behind Molly, moved in closer, leaned forward, whispering in her ear. **"He is addressing the English. They're invaders threatening our way of life. They want our land and to bow for their King. We're no people in their eyes. We're nothin but savages. Animals. We invited them into our homes, we fed them, and in return, they stole our land, raped our women than waved their colors in our faces."** It never did get any easier for him to hear Dougal give his speeches for the cause. He didn't always agree with what Dougal was doing, but he knew it was necessary. Murtagh paused for a moment to listen to what Dougal said next. **"The English rule over everyone, But Highlanders are free people they can't rule us. Their time of tyranny is over. No longer can we let them beat us like a dog. We need to take back our home and our livelihood. We need to get the throne back to its rightful owner. Back to Charles Edward Stewart. He will bring us back to righteousness and rid Scotland of the English for good. If it's a bloodbath they want, it's a bloodbath they shall have. For Scotland."**

Molly could feel the color draining from her face. It took everything she had to keep her jaw from dropping. " **He's a Jacobite?"** an obvious question to an obvious answer. She couldn't believe it. Dougal didn't seem the type, but certain aspects of his behavior towards her started to make sense now. The realization came to her like a punch in the face. Molly, now forced to face a reality that she had been ignoring up to this point. She went to open her mouth to ask Murtagh another question, but Dougal started to talk again after multiple people in the crowd questioned his motives and the truthfulness of his words.

" **I've seen the violence and hatred swimming through their veins. They call us the savages, but I have never seen a Scotsman do, to another man the things the English have done. Don't believe me? Fine, perhaps you'll believe the word of someone who has experienced it firsthand."**

Murtagh watched Molly with great caution. She was hanging onto every word Dougal had to say, but by her sudden rigid stance, it was easy to believe she wanted to say or do something. He couldn't allow it. The political issues happening in Scotland had been going on longer than her arrival. Whether she agreed or disagreed, she would need to learn to accept them.

Dougal held his chin up as he looked deep into the crowd. Molly studied him very carefully as he raised his hand out, motioning for someone to step forward. Her heart began to race uncontrollably as she frantically looked around and just as she feared. Her eyes landed on Jamie. His back was turned from the crowd like he was trying to hide himself, and like a scared child, he turned around. **"Young Jamie here knows better than anyone."** Dougal started. **"Show these men, what those, red coat Lil bastards did to ye, how they almost left ye for dead."**

All eyes fell on Jamie. He was hesitant at first with a look of regret as he made his way toward Dougal. Just like Murtagh predicted, Molly quickly moved forward in a vain attempt to stop her friend but met by the even quicker movement of Murtagh, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. **"I don't think so, lass... mind ye own."** He told her calmly, but that did not stop his American friend from struggling; however, she did not fight that much longer.

" **Let go of me, I'm fine."** She snapped back. Murtagh Slowly released Molly from his hold. Her lip quivered in anger, and she tried watching as long as she could, but the moment Dougal tore open the back of Jamie's shirt, she could not take it anymore. She turned towards Murtagh, pushing her way past him, storming off away from him and the situation.

Murtagh chose not to follow, or at least not right away. He stayed to comfort Jamie after his uncle's attempt to extort more money out of these people and to give Molly time to calm down. Finally, when Murtagh felt that Jamie was okay, he went to look for the young woman. Molly didn't stray far from where they were. Murtagh found her walking towards him. Her head looked up from the ground, and the two met halfway.

It was as if Murtagh knew what Molly was about to say. **"Jamie is a tough lad. He'll be fine, he always is."** He explained.

" **Dougal has done this before?"** Molly asked, folding her arms in complete disgust. She shook her head for a moment before bringing her stare back to Murtagh. **"Can I ask you a question, are you one too?"**

Murtagh kept his gaze on Molly while he pulled his arms across his chest. " **Molly, who we are and who we have to be are two different people."** He explained before taking a step forward. **"Ye know that better than anyone."**

It was not the answer she wanted to hear, but it was the answer he gave her. It was a difficult situation. Molly wasn't angry that they were a part of the Jacobite rebellion; she was scared. She blamed herself. It wasn't like Molly didn't know about the situation happening in Scotland, but Molly chose to ignore it. She fell through the stones and found herself lost in the romance of the time and the culture. Who wouldn't love getting rescued by a rugged Highlander? It was pure fiction. Now, she was face to face with the unforgivable reality of the situation. The history books don't lie. She turned on her heel to face Murtagh. A forlorn expression, resting across her brow. He was a man of conviction, but how could she tell him that their Bonnie Prince Charles was a fucking idiot and would lead them to their death at the battle of Culloden? It was simple; Molly couldn't.

" **What is it all for?"** She asked.

" **This is our home, Molly. We will do whatever it takes to keep it that way. Ye ask me what it's for? For Scotland."**

Molly mulled over what Murtagh had said. She couldn't argue with him, not when he was right. Scotland was his home, and it was wrong to think he would sit idly by as he watched it get ripped away from him. After what felt like forever, Molly closed the rest of the distance between them. **"When we get to Inverness... I'm not leaving with you."** It was a sudden and hasty decision, but knowing what she knew or the thought of something unimaginably horrible happening to Murtagh, she could not handle it.

That certainly was something he wasn't expecting. It was a low blow at that. Murtagh fell quiet. His eyes fell to the dirt until finally figuring out what to say. **"Have ye told Jamie?"** He asked slowly.

" **No, he's going to be so heartbroken."** She added.

He wasn't the only one about to mend a broken heart. The older male could feel his own heart shattering already. It wasn't Murtagh's place to argue with what she thought was best for her life. But it wasn't going to stop him from trying. **"Maybe ye could find a reason to stay? I know I'll miss ye, Molly."**

He couldn't make it easy on her, could he? Molly looked up at her favorite Scotsman with a weary smile. Gently, she reached up, resting her hand along his jaw. It was subtle, but Molly could feel him nudging his cheek into her hand. She would miss him most of all. And without saying a word, she let her hand drop and began walking away, but not before giving him a glance over her shoulder, leaving Murtagh like he was thunderstruck.


End file.
